The Deepest Cuts are Healed by Faith
by Kamara
Summary: sequal to We Can't Afford to be Innocent
1. Default Chapter Title

The Deepest Cuts are Healed By Fate  
  
by Kamara  
  
stealthbunny@msn.com  
  
  
  
Hot Rod's account:  
  
Another sabatage reported today. They've all been real strange. No Deceps have been seen around the area, yet computers go kaplooey, things are stolen, and our plans are being found out somehow. The things that're disappearing are small, too. I thought it was Laserbeak, perhaps, but Kup just herumphed at me. Turns out, Laserbeak's still on Earth. And we're stumped, although Kup'll never admit it. He just gets that wise gleam in his optics and starts quoting either proverbs or his old war stories. I keep trying to tell him that we don't need stories. We need answers, or action to get answers, but he snorts and stomps off.  
  
Which means he's as stumped as the rest of us.  
  
But we _shouldn't_ be. Our systemry has improved drastically over the last few years. We're still little more than bands of strike forces, but we've always been able to keep the Deceps out of our areas, or at least be able to detect them before they do too much damage. But this... whatever it is... slips in and out, and we'd never know it, except for the damage it leaves behind.  
  
I hope we can figure this out before Optimus Prime decides to send a team up here. After all, we can take care of ourselves. Although I've never see the great Optimus Prime, when I do, I don't want it to be because of our failure.  
  
I mentioned this to Kup once, and he snorted at me. "What makes you think you'll even get a glimpse of Prime, if he comes, lad? Go back to transporting your energon and put away such grand dreams. This is a war, not a picnic."  
  
As if _he_ has all the answers!  
  
  
CHAPTER ONE -- Earth 1993  
  
It was a beautiful October.  
  
The month had always been one of her favorites. When she was a child, it had been because of the fun of Hallowe'en. Now it was for the colors of the leaves, the sounds they made when she walked through them, the chill promise of winter in the air. All these were new to her. She had lived so long in cities, which blunted the feel of nature with concrete and metal. The autumn air matched her emotions, the ending of a season, the ending of life. Spring was full of promise, and she had almost grown to dread such promises, because they reminded her of promises made and broken. She felt like she was at the end of a season all the time now, had felt it for years. Spring brought back memories that she was spending her life trying to forget. Trying to live in numbness.  
  
It was a little easier, in autumn.  
  
The wind was cold with the hint of rain. A sleety rain, perhaps. She stretched into the air, leaning off the boulder she was standing on, letting the wind rail against her face. Her cheeks were already cold and numbing from it. She wished the wind could numb her memories as well.  
  
"Tarla?"  
  
She let out her breath, letting it catch in impatience. She kept her eyes closed for a moment longer, hoping maybe she could lose herself in the cold anyway, in spite of the distraction.  
  
"Tarla?"  
  
_Not this time._ She opened her eyes and gazed for a moment out over the valley, burnt red with autumn leaves. The wind whipped her hair into her eyes, stinging them and bringing tears. She shoved the hair away from her face and turned away from the wind. She leaped off the boulder, away from the cold wind and into the relative shelter of the rocks and vegetation, pushed her way through the brush back to the road.  
  
"You make me nervous so close to the edge like that," Steven said. She gazed at him impassively for a moment, then lifted her shoulder in an abbreviated shrug and started to walk down the road.   
  
Steven hurried to catch up. "I'm always afraid you'll slip or something. You get that look on your face, sometimes, like you've forgotten where you are."  
  
"I haven't forgotten where I am, Steven," she said in a low voice. "I want to forget where I've been."  
  
"I don't understand," he said, as he had told her many times over the semester. He had attached himself to her early in the school year -- _followed me home,_ she thought uncharitably, almost hissing the words to herself. Then she sighed. Steven was quiet, rarely forcing her into conversation, and one couldn't be alone all the time.  
  
"It's nothing," she said in a softer, more gentle tone. Usually that was enough to deter him.  
  
This afternoon, it wasn't. "You always say that," he said with uncharacteristic persistance. "But I can tell from your eyes that it's the farthest thing from nothing."  
  
She stopped walking and looked at him, her head lowered, gazing at him through untrimmed bangs of hair. His brown eyes were soft with concern, and it had been a long time since she had let anyone be concerned over her. He was nice enough, and most definately didn't deserve the way she kept him shut out. But she had given up the comfort of confiding to people, or even of becoming so close enough to someone that she'd want to confide to them. "It's nothing, really," she said in what was probably the gentlest voice she had ever used to him. "Really, Steven. I just get caught up in memories sometimes. And they really _are_ only memories."  
  
"You could talk about them, perhaps." He shoved his hands in his pockets. The wind didn't really reach the road through the trees, but the air was still cold. "It might help."  
  
"No," she said. "Nothing will help." She couldn't think of anything else to say that would explain further, without crossing that line she had drawn between herself and the rest of the world, and so she started walking again. Steven understood the rebuff and caught up to her, but didn't speak to her again. She lapsed back into trying to not think. When that didn't work, she concentrated on conjugating French verbs. Anything to fill the void that wanted to fill itself with memories. She didn't look up from her feet until Steven suddenly whistled. "Someone sure went off the road up there." He pointed up ahead of them at the skid marks on the road and the broken guard rail and brush.  
  
Tarla took a few more quick steps and knelt by the marks. "Not too long ago, either. We'd better see if anyone's hurt down there." She peered down the embankment and saw the gleam of yellow metal.  
  
Steven stopped her as she started to make her way down. "Better let me go. It's a long ways down there, and you might not be able to climb back up again."  
  
She bit back a sharp reply -- _I've taken care of myself through worse_ -- but he couldn't possibly know that, and she couldn't possibly tell him. She fumed silently and considered plunging ahead anyway, but she had learned something from her past mistakes, and at the very least, she had gained some control over her impetuousness. She let Steven carefully pick his way down.  
  
"There's no one here," he finally called to her.   
  
She was thankful for an excuse to let her impatience slip into her voice. "Great. Some drunk driver goes off the road and abandons his car. Get the plate number, and I'll report it to campus security."  
  
There was a pause, then "No plates. It's a yellow VW bug. And hey, you ought to see the dashboard! Someone's done a lot of modifications to this baby. That must be one hell of a stereo system. I sure wouldn't have abandoned anything I put this much money into."  
  
"He may have done something that made that much money look trivial," she snorted, but her curiousity began to override her impatience, and she debated following him down anyway. "Any other marks or something that can be used for ID?"  
  
She heard him crash through more bushes. "Lots of scorch marks. Wonder what could have made them? Wait a minute -- there's something on the hood. It's an emblem of some kind. Black. I don't recognize it."  
  
Tarla went cold, past the chill of the weather. Emblem. No plates. Scorch marks -- she plunged down, crashing through the underbrush. Steven was saying something in concern to her, but she couldn't make out the words through the blood pounding in her ears. Gravity helped her down the embankment faster than she would have gone on her own, even in her panic, and she crashed against the back of the VW.  
  
It couldn't be.  
  
It was.  
  
"Bumblebee?" she whispered, then louder. "Bumblebee? Answer me!" She pushed past Steven and yanked at the dented door until she could wrench it open. She laid her hand on the complicated dashboard. "It's Tarla, Bumblebee."  
  
There was a whisper, full of agony. "Tarla...? No... energy... hurts... Decep... ticons... can't radio..."  
  
She caught her breath in something that was almost a sob. _Almost, hell_ She was crying. "Don't worry, Bee. I'll get you home."  
  
"Prime... Starscream... why, Tarla? Why?"  
  
The coldness threatened to engulf her completely. _Well, you wanted to be numb, kid._ It wasn't the relief she had yearned for. She leaned out the door. "Give me your CD player."  
  
Steven backed away, and she found herself wondering what she must look like, to bring fear in his eyes like that. "What's going on, Tarla?"  
  
She caught the sudden rush of rage before she could launch herself at him and shake the CD player away from him. "Give it to me," she ordered. The ring of authority overrode any other reaction and he numbly unclipped the player from his belt and unhooked the headphones from around his neck. He handed it to her, gingerly, as if handing food to a wild animal. She snatched it away from him, and he took several steps backwards.   
  
She didn't take the time to care. "Bumblebee, I'm going to give you a tiny bit of energy. Direct it all to your communications systems and let me make the call. Don't you take the energy to speak." She slipped underneath the dashboard and plugged the player into one of the sockets on the dashboard, and the radio lights grew faintly brighter as the player's batteries drained. "Good thing you're as fuel-efficient as you've always bragged, huh, Bee?"  
  
Bumblebee chuckled slightly, then choked it off as if it hurt. Tarla wiggled back into the seat and rested her hand on the dashboard again, trying in a useless gesture to let some of her own energy flow into the wounded VW. "Can you raise the Ark?"  
  
"Will.... try... Homing beacon...?"  
  
"We gotta get their attention first." She found the frequency the Autobots commonly used. "Autobots? Anyone there? C'mon, guys?"  
  
There was an answering crackle, then Jazz's voice came through. 'This's th' Autobots. Who're you and how'd you know this frequency?"  
  
The familiar voice of the Autobot she had spent hours with, discussing music and human customs, threatened to bring the tears back again. She didn't dare cry; she didn't know how long the radio would hold out. "Jazz, Bumblebee's hurt. Are you receiving his beacon? I don't know how long I can keep it broadcasting."  
  
"We're gettin' you, girl, but we're not gettin' who you are."  
  
She took a deep breath and let it out. _Oh, God._ "Jazz, it's Tarla."  
  
There was silence and Tarla wondered if the connection had been broken. "Jazz?" she asked in a low voice, trying to keep fear out of it.  
  
"We're readin' you, Tarla." She heard him murmur to someone in the room with him to get Prime. And fast.   
  
She panicked. "Jazz, I need to save as much of this energy as I can. You have our location?"  
  
"Right. Stay where you are, an' we'll be there directly."  
  
She turned off the radio and rested her head on the dashboard for a minute.  
  
"Tarla...?"  
  
She sat up so fast that her head nearly rebounded off the head rest. "Don't talk, Bee. Save that energy."  
  
"Missed... you..."  
  
She held her hands over her mouth. Her fingers were shaking. _Oh, God, they're coming, I have to run, run again..._  
  
"Tarla?"  
  
She jumped again, at the human voice. She had forgotten Steven. She looked at him through Bumblebee's window, her eyes wide. It was probably more emotion than he had ever seen from her.   
  
_Run..._  
  
_I can't run. Bumblebee's hurt._  
  
She fought the panic down with a deep breath. "Bumblebee is a Transformer," she said softly. "You know what they are, right? I... lived with them for a while, a few years back." She spread her hands carefully against the steering wheel. They still shook. "My memories," she said softly, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.  
  
He looked very confused and more than a bit frightened. "You mean the robots that are trying to take over Earth?"  
  
Bumblebee chuckled in spite of himself. "Right idea.... wrong side..."  
  
Tarla cuffed his dashboard. "I told you not to talk. Anything I can do for the pain?"  
  
"Trash... Laserbeak?"  
  
She reacted as if she had been slapped.  
  
"Sorry... forgot... No... Can't even... transform..."  
  
"Then don't try. They'll be here soon."  
  
"What does it transform into?" Steven asked, looking skeptically at the battered little VW.  
  
"He. This is his alternate form. He's an Autobot, and they aren't trying to take over the Earth. The Decepticons are." She hated the feel of the last sentance coming out of her mouth.  
  
"And you were friends with the Autobots?"  
  
"I had friends on both sides," she said evenly and pushed past him to climb out of the seat. She went to sit on the ground against the trunk of a tree. She wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her face in them.  
  
He didn't ask any more questions.  
  
*  
  
An hour later, there was a roar of jets. Tarla's head jerked up.  
  
"Tarla..."  
  
She scrambled to her feet. "I hear them, Bumblebee." She sighed and rubbed at her face, then looked around. Steven was still hovering, looking as though he really wanted to leave, but as if he felt he had some... duty, or something... to stay and watch over her. She shook her head, snorting softly under his breath. _Ah, well... it isn't his fault. No one's fault but your own, kid._ "Steven, get in Bumblebee and stay there."  
  
"No... I'm... a target." Bumblebee wobbled in frustration, trying to transform. "Can't..."  
  
"Then don't. Even if you could transform, you're too weak to do any more than get killed. Let me handle this."  
  
"How...?"  
  
"You've forgotten again," she chided in a light voice that didn't match her emotions in the slightest. She scrambled up the incline.  
  
"What is it?" she heard Steven ask, hesitantly, as if he felt strange talking to a car, no matter if it was one that talked back.  
  
"'Cepticons," Bumblebee answered.  
  
"They're the bad guys right? And you're letting her go up there alone?"  
  
There was a pause, and Tarla slowed down a little, to hear what he'd say.   
  
"They... won't hurt her..." he finally said.  
  
She turned. "Bee, stop talking, unless it's to the Autobots. Tell them to hurry."  
  
The jets circled again. The sound of their engines changed sharply, and she knew they had seen where Bumblebee had gone off the road. By the time she had reached the twisted remains of the guardrail, they were transforming to land.  
  
None of them were ones she thought of as friends. Skywarp was an F15 jet, and the only Decepticon of that make that truly scared her. Fortunately, he wasn't very smart. Thrust and Dirge, she hardly knew at all, except by sight and name. Laserbeak made her nervous, simply because of his specialty. He was the questioner, the torturer. The cassette-vulture had never actually done anything to her, yet his eyes had always seemed to be focused on her. He was the first one who noticed her and screeched, coming to land in one of the trees.  
  
Dirge followed Laserbeak's gaze. "Move aside, human. This does not concern you."  
  
"I'm afraid it does, Dirge." She moved out of the shadows of the trees. "Do you recognize me?"  
  
They all did and glanced at each other. "The Autobot is ours," Thrust said, but he didn't sound as sure of himself.  
  
She squinted up at them. The afternoon sun glinted off of steel and played havoc on her eyes. "You'll have to go through me to get him."  
  
"As you wish," Skywarp grinned and aimed his twin lasers at her.  
  
"And you can explain it to Starscream. I called him, you know," she lied. "He knows I'm here. Knows you're here, too."  
  
Skywarp froze.  
  
"Traiter!" Dirge hissed.  
  
"Yeah, but Screamer won't see it that way," Skywarp said. "You know she's his pet. I'm calling Megatron."  
  
There was a roar of a car engine and the squeal of tires. "Calling him what, Skywimp?" Hound laughed and fired his turret gun once in the air. Jazz came up next to him, with Ratchet just behind.  
  
But Tarla's gaze was focused on the huge vehicle behind Ratchet, the huge, powerful semi truck. Leader of all the Autobots. Optimus Prime.  
  
Everyone else's attention was on the face off. No one saw the pain and the echoes of pain behind it etched on Tarla's face as she looked away.  
  
The tableau more or less halted. The Autobots calmly waited as Tarla stepped forward. Neither side would fire, for fear of hitting her. The Autobots wouldn't, because of the way of Autobots, and the Decepticons wouldn't because they were afraid of Starscream.  
  
Dirge ran first, leaping for the skies, Thrust quickly following. Skywarp whirled and fired once blindly down the embankment, then he and Laserbeak also took off.  
  
Ratchet immediately rolled over. "Where is he?"  
  
She pointed down the embankment. Hound fired a cable down, and she led Jazz to Bumblebee. Jazz clucked sympathetically at the smallest Autobot and quickly rigged a make-shift sling and wrapped it around Bumblebee. He helped pull Bumblebee up, clearing the brush ahead of them. He and Hound loaded Bumblebee into Ratchet's back compartment, and the chief medical officer roared off, lights and sirens blaring.  
  
And through all of it, Optimus Prime stood apart, in truck mode and silent, except for a brief phrase of encouragement to Bumblebee. Tarla glanced at him one more time, then turned to Jazz and Hound. "Well, it was nice seeing you all again. I have to go now. Good-bye." She quickly began to walk away.  
  
Hound and Jazz glanced at each other, then each took one step forward to flank her. "Now, jus' a minute, here," Jazz said. "You leavin' us again so quickly, after disappearin' f'r four years? Even th' rumors stopped two years ago. We fin'lly find you, and 'It's nice seein' ya, good-bye'?"  
  
She deliberately glanced at her watch. "I'm late for a class."  
  
They caught up with her again, in one effortless step. "At least let us give you a ride," Hound begged.  
  
For the first time, Optimus Prime moved, rolling foward with the sound of tires crunching gravel. His door swung open. "You will ride with me, Tarla."  
  
She hesitated, but very few could disobey Prime when he used that tone. With her tiny height, she had to jump to catch the edge of the door and used it to swing up inside. As a last minute thought, she remembered Steven and leaned out the window. "I'll see you later, Steven," she said softly, although she knew she probably wouldn't. His eyes held too much fear. "My memories," she said, with another of her abbreviated shrugs. It was the only explanation she could give. Or would give. She shrank back into the cab, away from the window, so she wouldn't have to look and see the fear in his eyes again.  
  
Prime hesitated, obviously wondering if she was going to say anything else to him. She could sense him mulling it over, then he rolled foward. From one of his rear-view mirrors, she saw Hound transform and stop next to Steven. Steven shook his head at the offer of a ride, backing away nervously.  
  
_Can't blame him, I suppose. Not everyone can accept new things._  
  
"You're just going to leave him behind?" Prime asked. "No words? Nothing?"  
  
"I have nothing to say. Better to just leave."  
  
"You seem to do that well."  
  
The rebuke was more than effective; it hit her right to the core. She automatically shifted to lean as tightly to the passenger door as she could, as far away from Prime's voice transmitter as possible.  
  
They said nothing else for about a mile more, then Prime turned off onto the next side road. "You go on ahead," he radioed. "I'll meet you back at the Ark later."  
  
Jazz and Hound both murmured something affirmatively, skirting aorund them and... well, "fleeing" was a pretty accurate description.  
  
Prime stopped at the small meadow at the end of the dirt road, the meadow shrinking even smaller with his great size. "Get out, so I can transform."  
  
"Prime, I'm going to be late for my class," she tried one hopeless last time.  
  
"You can miss one class."  
  
She swung out, and he slowly transformed. For a moment, he towered over her, then he settled down to sit on the grass. She remained standing for another moment, shifted restlessly, and he wondered if she was going to bolt and run. And he wondered what he would do if she did. Finally she sank to the grass. The only sign of defiance was that she refused to look at him. Instead, she ripped at blades of grass, shredding them with her fingernails. Her face was still and impassive, showing no sign of the pixie smile that had almost been a trademark. The last time he had seen her, she had been shadowed by fatigue and pain. But the lines etched in her face now went past that to defeat. He wondered if it was a protective mask or if it was reality.   
  
"Your arm healed well?" he asked. Frenzy had shattered it, in that battle four years ago. It had still been in a cast when she had left.  
  
Tarla blinked, as if it was the last thing she had expected him to say. She looked down at her hand and wiggled her fingers, as if testing them to see if they really did work. "'S'okay," she said. "I've got kind of a weather ache now in my wrist. That was the worst of the breaks, you know. But it's all right now, Prime."  
  
"You used to call me Optimus," he said softly.  
  
She closed her eyes, and he knew this was more along the lines of what she had expected and dreaded. "You didn't have to come," she said, her voice flat and without emotion. "They didn't need your help to come get Bumblebee."  
  
"You think I could have stayed, knowing you were here?"  
  
"You must have had more important things to do."  
  
"I probably did. But actually," he said, looking away from her, "at that moment, I couldn't think of a single one of them."  
  
"I didn't want you to come," she suddenly snarled. "I left to forget. I don't want these memories. Damn it, Prime, I fight to forget them, but they haunt me. They chase me, constantly. I left to escape that."  
  
"You left with the Decepticons."  
  
She drew in a deep breath, choked on it, and fell silent.  
  
"Tarla, we know the truth behind the rumors," he said more quietly. "You left us, saying you were desperate to keep away from both sides of the War, and we were willing to give you that freedom. if it was what you needed to heal. But you went and lived with the Decepticons for over a year."  
  
"Not with all the Decepticons." Her voice was flat and emotionless again.  
  
"No," he agreed. "You went with Starscream."  
  
"Optimus," she said softly, "I didn't go with him for his cause, but for who he was."  
  
"Do you think that makes it any easier on your Autobot friends? Do you think that makes a difference to them? Or to me?"  
  
The sound she made was almost a sob. Or maybe it was just a sigh. "I never meant for it to happen. I really meant to just disappear, but it wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. I was scared, hurt, and had no where to go, and all that determination that I started out with just... disappeared before I could do anything with it. I was just a kid, Optimus. I was alone with no where to go.... and Starscream found me."  
  
"You could have come back to us. Did you think that I would -- that I _could_ turn you away?"  
  
She looked up, meeting his gaze for the first time. "I knew you wouldn't. But I also knew that if I returned, I'd never be able to leave again. So instead, I went with Starscream, because I thought it would be easier to leave _him_. And it wasn't. The same thing happened with him that I was afraid would happen with you. Once with him, I couldn't leave." Then something similar to desperation took over the lack of emotion in her eyes. "Optimus, I still lo--" she began wildly, then choked herself off and buried her face in her hands. When she looked up again, her eyes were locked against emotion. "I still don't want to be involved," she finished, whether or not that was what she had started to say. "I don't want any part of your war. Leave me alone, Prime."  
  
"Tarla --" he began.  
  
"Please!" she cried desperately and bolted, like he had been afraid she would, running away from him and back to the world she was fighting to lose herself in.  
  
After a long time, Prime transformed and headed back to the Ark.  
  



	2. Default Chapter Title

THE DEEPEST CUTS ARE HEALED BY FAITH  
  
by Kamara  
  
stealthbunny@msn.com  
  
  
HOT ROD'S ACCOUNT  
  
We spent the last several days going crazy.  
  
First of all, the sabotages increased. Instead of maybe one a week, we were suddenly getting several a day, nearly all in one location. Again, all small stuff. And no one ever say anything until three days ago, when TailSpin went into one of Wheeljack's old labs and someone threw an ion grenade at him. By the time we found him, he was conscious enough to jibber about solid shadows all the way to the med-bay, which led the more superstitious Autobots to start talking about ghosts, and once _that_ rumor started, it was almost impossible to stop. So half our soldiers were scared of their own shadows, and the other half were chalking up even the existence of the sabotages to rumors.  
  
Then Arcee came up to Kup and me. "Look," she said. "Suppose it's a human?"  
  
I broke down into laughter, leaning against the wall for support.  
  
Arcee kicked my feet out from under me.  
  
You'd think I'd learn, wouldn't you? Nah....  
  
Kup looked at me, sprawled on the floor, and muttered something about hopeless before turning to Arcee. "What makes you think that, lass?"  
  
She looked thoughtful. "Well, everything that is damaged is small. You know, pieces of circuitry rather than whole components. Even that ion grenade was smaller than anything we'd carry. If it had been full-sized, it would have killed TailSpin, rather than simply knocking him silly for a while."  
  
"But a human working for the Decepticons?" I asked. "And here? Cybertron 'Cons hate humans even more than --"  
  
"Look, I know that," she snapped with a look that said if I didn't want to end up on the floor again, I'd better shut up and listen. "But there have been instances of humans working for 'Cons. Remember, back a few years ago, there was even an Autobot-leagued human who jumped sides and went Decepticon. Now, our scanners aren't set up for humans, and that would explain why we can never pick up anything. It's possible, isn't it?"  
  
"Maybe we should contact Optimus Prime and ask him," I said in excitement.  
  
"I'm not radioing Prime unless we know for certain," Kup said. "Yes, lass, it is possible, but unlikely. As Hot Rod said, Cybertron 'Cons despise humans, and I find it hard to believe that they'd allow one up here." He started to leave, then glanced back at us. "But that doesn't mean you can't keep your optics open. Now, I gotta go and try to put a stop to these ghost rumors." He stomped out.  
  
Arcee gave me a challenging stare.  
  
Well... occasionally, I do learn.  
  
I shrugged and said, "Where do we start?"  
  
*  
  
No. I never learn.  
  
So much for rest periods. Arcee was obsessed with the idea of finding this presumed-human. She came in the next day with an armload of surveillance cameras for me to repair and install. It took all afternoon. I finally stood back and looked with satisfaction at my last installation job. "Not bad, eh?"  
  
She looked at it critically. "Well, you'll improve with practice."  
  
"With practice?"  
  
"On the next batch."  
  
I studied the camera I had just finished installing. "Arcee?" I asked. "Just how many batches?"  
  
"About five or six. Come on and give me a hand."  
  
"What have I been doing all afternoon?" I grumbled.  
  
"Getting a good start," she said lightly and dragged me away.  
  
*  
  
If it wasn't for the fact that it worked before we had gotten to the third set of cameras, I couldn't have stuck with it until the fifth set, Arcee or no Arcee.  
  
But just as Arcee was dropping more cameras on my work bench, and I was about to shout quits, there was the sound of running feet outside, and Springer poked his head in the door. "C'mon, you guys," he said. "There's been another sabotage in G-wing. Nosedive's hurt."  
  
"I have cameras in G-wing!" Arcee yelped and ran out. Bu the time I ducked out into the corridor, she had transformed and was skidding out of sight around the corner.  
  
In spite of the situation with one Autobot down, her excitement was contagious. "Hurry up!" I yelled to Springer, already out-distancing him.  
  
He caught up with one bound of his powerful legs. I've seen Springer beat a running Autobot in a race by simply _jumping_ along beside him. "Seems to me, that was what I was telling _you_ a few seconds ago."  
  
"Aw, dry up, frog-legs," I shot back.  
  
"You've never even _seen_ a frog."  
  
"Yeah, well, they're green and jump, don't they? You sure your creator wasn't from Earth?"  
  
"Watch it, youngster," Springer laughed good-naturedly. "I'd hate to have to land on you by accident someday."  
  
We go on like this all the time. Springer's a good guy, although sometimes it seems as if he spends a bit _too_ much attention on Arcee.  
  
Who long since beat us to G-wing. By the time we got there, there was a circle of Autobots around the damaged components, three more were loading Nosedive into the back of a medic's chassis -- he didn't seem to be hurting too badly; he was chattering on and one in that endless way he had -- and Arcee was unhooking the memory chip from the camera.  
  
"There's a viewer in the communications room," she said as she shot past us again.  
  
Springer and I looked at each other, exchanged twin sighs, and followed her.  
  
"She usually get this excited over things?" Springer asked.  
  
"This? Nah..." I said. "You should see her when she really gets going."  
  
Springer grunted.  
  
Arcee had the viewer on and was feeding the memory chip into it. She plopped down on the chair in front of the viewed, her chin cushioned in her hands. The picture flicked on and she impatiently fast-forwarded through it.  
  
"Wait! Go back. Something moved." Springer leaned over her shoulder.  
  
"I saw it." She rewound a bit, then played.  
  
I nonchalantly sauntered forward and leaned over Arcee's _other_ shoulder.  
  
For a few seconds, the tape showed the empty, silent wing. Then there was a movement of black at the end of the hall.  
  
It had to be a human. Nothing else on Cybertron could be that small and delicate. Arcee made a small, motherly sound.  
  
"Primus," she said softly. "We could step on one and hardly even notice."  
  
"Don't go all soft on us, Arcee," Springer said. "It's hurt two Autobots already and done an incredible amount of damage. It may deserve to be stepped on."  
  
"She," I said.  
  
"What?" Springer glanced at me.  
  
"It's not an it. It's a she."  
  
"You _would_ notice," Arcee murmured under her breath.  
  
I grinned.  
  
The human was dressed entirely in black. Even her hair was black and shoulder-length. Although Arcee wasn't saying anything, I knew how envious she was -- she would give anything to have hair like a human's -- and I gently touched the back of her neck. For once, she didn't knock my arm away. "Just think how tangled it must get," I whispered to her, and she laughed in that gentle way that made me want to punt Springer out the door.  
  
"If you two don't stop flirting, we'll have to rewind the tape again," Springer snorted.  
  
"Jealous?" I asked.  
  
"Hot Rod!" they both exclaimed at the same time.  
  
"Rewind!" I shouted gleefully and punched the buttons. The picture whizzed, stopped, and once again, the human fluttered from the shadows of one room to the shadows of another. She walked, directly and without fear, past the sensors, knowing they wouldn't pick up any of her readings. Suddenly, she whirled around, hearing something we couldn't. Her expression was that of hatred, but hatred based entirely on fear. Nosedive came around the corner, and the human threw a grenade at him. It exploded, knocking him back against the wall, and the human was gone in the next second.  
  
"I'll go get Kup," I said.  
  
Kup saw the tape and went to get Ultra Magnus.  
  
Ultra Magnus saw the tape and went to call Optimus Prime.  
  
CHAPTER TWO -- Earth  
  
Prime strode into the main communications room in the Ark. "What is it, Jazz?"  
  
"Communication fr'm Cybertron. Ultra Magnus want t' speak t' you."  
  
Prime seemed to brighten a bit and turned to the screen. "Ultra Magnus, old friend."  
  
Ultra Magnus was never one for wasting words. "Prime, I think we're found that human female who went Decepticon on you a few years back."  
  
Prime and Jazz froze, then glanced at each other. "What do you mean?" Prime asked slowly.  
  
"We've found that a human has been behind a series of sabotage here on Cybertron. Two of our younger warriors went independent on us and set up cameras."  
  
"Not Tarla," Jazz cried in dismay.  
  
"Small female, about five feet tall, black hair."  
  
"No," Prime whispered.  
  
Ultra Magnus suddenly visibly remembered the rumors about Prime and this one human, and his expression softened. "I'm sorry, Prime. We have the tape."  
  
Prime looked up at him. "Show it," he ordered.  
  
Ultra Magnus stepped back and entered the camera memory chip into the communications panel. The screen fizzled into the scene that took place in G-wing.  
  
"It's her," Jazz whispered miserably.  
  
"Wait. Computer, stop."   
  
The camera stopped on a close-up of the girl.  
  
"Enhance."  
  
The picture centered in on her face and moved closer on the snarling expression of rage mixed with fear in the girl's black eyes.  
  
"Stop," Prime said softly, then drew a deep breath. "It's not her."  
  
"You are certain?" Magnus had to ask.  
  
"Affirmative," Prime said. "Tarla's eyes are blue."  
  
Jazz hit the console joyfully with his fist. "Riiiiight! The brightest, unhidable blue they are! Thank Cybertron!"  
  
"Ease off, Jazz," Prime chuckled, hiding his own immense relief.  
  
"Prime, what should we do?" Magnus looked a bit desperate. "We've never had any dealings with humans before."  
  
"I'll send a team up," Prime said. "I'm sure you can use a few extra warriors for a time."  
  
"We certainly can, Prime, and thank you."  
  
"Commend the two young warriors for me. Although," and Prime chuckled again, "not too excessively. We don't want the children showing us up too often."  
  
Magnus laughed. "My thoughts exactly. I'll keep in touch." He broke communications.  
  
Prime watched the blank screen for a few more moments, then turned to Jazz. "Has Ratchet released Bumblebee from the med-bay yet?"  
  
"I b'lieve so, with th' usual threats about takin' it easy."  
  
"Then we'll give him something easy to do. I want him to go and bring Tarla in."  
  
"Uh... sure, Prime... but is that wise?"  
  
"It may not be, but I want it done anyway."  
  
*  
  
She should have known.  
  
It was only a day after she had left Prime in the field, when she heard the roar of jet engines overhead. She slowly closed her text book, and while everyone in the class was ducking reflexively, she calmly stood up and walked out. Bu this time, she could hear gears transforming, and, amid screams, the _thwock_-ing sound of several tons hitting the ground.  
  
Then a high-pitched, almost screaming voice began shouting her name. She walked outside, slipped away from one person when he could have prevented her from going farther, and stepped in front of the huge jet-Transformer with the Decepticon emblem.  
  
He finally noticed her and stopped yelling in mid-syllable.  
  
"Hello, Starscream," she said softly, knowing his audio receptors would pick up her voice.  
  
He studied her for a few seconds. "Skywarp and the others said they had found you. I was planning to exterminate them for lying."  
  
She shrugged slightly. "I'm sure they'll be glad of the reprieve."  
  
He snorted, arms folded across his chest. "Why'd you leave?"  
  
Her chin came up. "For my own reasons. I wanted my own life, not to be known as Starscream's pet."  
  
"Or Optimus Prime's?" Starscream challenged. "They said he was here to get you."  
  
She spread her hands out in front of her, and she knew he saw them shaking. "I'm still here, aren't I? I didn't go with him. And I'm not going with you, either."   
"Did I ask?"  
  
"Weren't you going to?"  
  
He looked at her for a long time. "No," he said to her surprise, the "scream" gone from his voice. "Too many Decepticons are against me. You wouldn't be safe."  
  
"Am I really safe now?"  
  
"How quickly can the Autobots get here?" he asked wryly. "You're safer with them than with me." Without another word, he leapt into the air, transforming and roaring away.  
  
She realized she was clenching her jaws so tightly that they hurt. She closed her eyes, trying to force herself to relax and failing. She heard sirens and contemptuously wondered what the local police thought they could do against a Transformer. Then she slowly walked past the students and faculty, staring at the torn chunks of turf and at her, walked into her dormitory and into her room, found her battered backpack and began to pack it. She threw in as many clothes as would fit, then gently slipped in her flute. She tied her coat around her waist and began to shoulder her pack when she saw the yellow VW bug pull into the parking lot outside her window.  
  
She took a deep breath, let it out, then left the dorm through the back door.  
  
She was letting herself feel rather proud, about an hour later down the road heading north, when one car, instead of passing her, slowed down. She turned to wave it by -- she hadn't found humans to be much more trustworthy than Decepticons -- and the yellow VW beeped happily at her.  
  
Tarla sighed and began to walk again.  
  
"Aw, c'mon, Tarla," Bumblebee said mournfully, rolling beside her. "I'm s'pposed to bring you back."  
  
"Tell Prime you couldn't find me."  
  
"But it's important."   
"Isn't it always?"  
  
Bumblebee transformed and ran in front of her, blocking her way. "Tarla," he said seriously, all normal traces of laughter gone, "I wasn't told to give you a choice."  
  
She stared at him in disbelief. "You'll force me to come with you?"  
  
"If I have too." He looked apologetic. "Prime said it was important."  
  
"It damn well better be," she snapped. "Transform. You don't have to force me. I'm going back to have it out with Prime. How _dare_ he?"  
  
Bumblebee transformed with relief. Even this anger was welcome over the quiet defeat that seemed to have overwhelmed the human. She didn't wait for him to open the door, but wrenched it open herself, throwing her backpack in the back seat with a strength that made Bumblebee grunt. "Hey, take it easy," he protested. "Don't take it out on me. I'm only following orders."  
  
"Then follow this one," she snarled. "Drive."  
  
"Yessir!" he quipped, then yelped when she smacked his dashboard.  
  
*  
  
Prime _heard_ Tarla long before he saw her. Of course, Teletran-One had informed him of Bumblebee's return, but throughout the corridors, he could hear the Autobots' surprised reactions as they saw her, and her snapped demands to know where he was. Jazz glanced over at him. "I never thought this was a good idea."  
  
She walked in at that moment and dropped the backpack loudly on the floor. "Now, just what the hell is going on?"  
  
Jazz slipped past her. "'Scuze me," he said and fled.  
  
She stared at Prime. "Well?"  
  
He suddenly felt mischievous and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him. "I suppose you're wondering why I called you here..."  
  
"You've been hanging around the television room too long."  
  
"Probably," he agreed. "One of the strike forces on Cybertron reported a Decepticon human saboteur. A female, about twenty Terran years, small built, black hair. Gave us all a start."  
  
She had gone pale, taking a step backwards. She tried to say something, but her voice failed, and she had to try another time before she could get any volume out. "Prime, you don't think that I would --"  
  
"Granted, she looked remarkably like you, but she isn't. Eye color could be faked, I suppose, with contact lenses, but we did a comparison of the girl on the tapes with the files we had on you, and along with the different eye color, she's about half an inch shorter than you."  
  
"You sound as if you really thought it was me." She was still staring in hurt disbelief.  
  
"It wouldn't have surprised most of the Autobots. And," he added more gently, "I am commander, and must consider all the possibilities."  
  
She sighed and nudged the backpack over on its back and sat down on it wearily. "If you knew it wasn't me, why'd you have Bumblebee drag me in?" She smiled softly. "Poor little Bee. I'm not sure what he would have done if I had really refused."  
  
"Neither am I," Prime confessed. "I shouldn't confuse his loyalties like that. I'm sending a team up to Cybertron, as we have experience with humans, and the Cybertronian Autobots have only seen videos. You're going with them."  
  
"No, I'm not," Tarla said sharply. "I want nothing more to do with this war."  
  
"Then you never should have snuck onto the Ark four years ago. You're caught up in this as much as the rest of us. You said it yourself, back in the jeonide-ten incident. Once you're involved, you're no longer an innocent."  
  
"You wouldn't listen to me, _then_."  
  
"Nor will I listen to your protests now. It's an order, Tarla. Be ready to leave in two hours."  
  
She opened her mouth, and he anticipated her saying that he had no authority over her. And he didn't, short of tossing her on the shuttle with or without her permission. Then she cocked her head, studying him. "Why me?"  
  
He let out a small breath of relief. "You are human, and are familiar with both sides. Perhaps you will be able to communicate with this Decepticon human where we cannot."  
  
She considered that as well, then shrugged. "I give up. 'Sides, I don't have anywhere else to go."  
  
His optics flickered with mild anger. "That is hardly a reason. Lives may be at stake here."  
  
Her eyes narrowed with her own flare of anger. "I can't go back to school. The Autobots know I was there. The Decepticons know I was there. Starscream showed up knocking at my door. For that matter, the whole damned world knows about it. I spent three years trying not to be noticed. Now, I've lost the chance at my degree. I can't just transfer to another school, because I'm now traceable through my records. I'd have to start all over again, different school, different name, different degree. Lives may be at stake, Optimus, but my life just ground to a halt. Again. So, yes, I might as well help, because I don't know what else to do or where else to go, because wherever I do go, a damn Transformer seems to find me." She ran out of energy to be angry with, and closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead against the headache that had been building ever since Starscream had landed outside the lecture hall.  
  
"We really have ruined your life, haven't we?" Prime asked, regret deep in his voice.  
  
She let out a sharp breath of laughter. "I seemed to remember having a part in that, myself."   
  
"This wasn't the first time they found you, was it?"  
  
She was silent for a moment, then pushed her hair out of her eyes. "I was lucky it was Ravage. He likes me, you know. But if he knew, the others would follow. And sooner or later Frenzy would find me, and he really hates me. Or someone who has a grudge against Starscream, and that list is pretty immense."  
  
The chuckle escaped him before he could stop it. "I imagine it is."  
  
Tarla shrugged, with the air of someone who had grown used to that danger. "There are a lot of 'Cons who would love to find me and kill me, just for the effect it would have on Starscream. 'Course, there are also a lot who would kill me just for the effect it would have on you. And there are some... well, ok, there's Frenzy who just wants to kill me. It's kind of hard to just disappear when you're up against that. But for the last two years, I thought I was safe, and then I trip over Bumblebee."  
  
"You could have just kept walking when you saw who it was over that bank."  
  
She gave him a look of pure horror. "I couldn't do that, and you know it."  
  
"Yes, I do. But I wanted to hear you say it aloud."  
  
She shook her head again, in wry amusement this time. "Enough, Optimus. I can't spar words with you anymore. I'm ready to go, any time the rest of the team is."  
  
He nodded. "We'll be leaving in two hours."  
  
"'We'?" she echoed.  
  
He nodded again. "I miss Cybertron." And he was having a hard time allowing himself to let her out of his sight again, for fear she'd never come back. Part of him was basking in the glow that she called him by his name again, instead of his title.  
  
They had been too close for her not to sense some of those thoughts, and a variety of emotions played across her face. Finally she smiled, and stood, picking up her pack. "I'll see you in two hours, Optimus." She smiled and left.  
  
Walking through the corridors wasn't easy. There were a few of her old friends, who'd run up to greet her, and that was all right. But for the most part, the looks the Autobots would give Tarla were full of mistrust. She refused to look at them and strode through the hallways to the small storage room. She keyed the door open, the closed it behind her against the stares and glares.  
  
There were a few new piles of boxes and crates, and one huge drum, the kind that usually held liquids, in the corners of the room. Autobots rarely threw anything away.  
  
In the fourth corner were several empty storage cases. There couldn't possibly still be the scent of jasmine left after four years, but for some reason, the scent came back to her, strong and clear, although she hadn't been able to touch jasmine tea since then. Clean blankets were piled in a nest in one of the boxes, waiting for her as if she had only left the day before. Tarla lowered her pack and crawled into the huge case, rearranging the blankets. Then the temptation overwhelmed her, and she curled up on the blankets, burying her face in the folds of the cloth, trying desperately to capture any hint of a feeling that she had come home.  
  
She still hadn't by the time Prime radioed her to tell her that the rest of the team was ready to leave.  
  



	3. Default Chapter Title

THE DEEPEST CUTS ARE HEALED BY FAITH  
  
By Kamara  
stealthbunny@msn.com  
  
HOT ROD'S ACCOUNT  
  
The great Optimus Prime is coming here!  
  
Because of _us_!  
  
So there, Kup.  
  
Not that this has changed much of anything. We got our heads patted and a thank-you, and a back-to-work-now, but that's all right, 'cause Optimus Prime is coming _here_, and I'll get to at least _see_ him, if not actually meet him.  
  
"Roddi?"  
  
I looked up from the wall I had been daydreaming at for the last half-hour or so. "Yeah, 'Cee?"  
  
She came in and slid down the wall to sit next to me, focusing at the same spot I had been daydreaming at. "Exciting, isn't it?"  
  
"You got it, kid!" I grinned when she scowled at me and caught her hand before she could slug me. She twisted her wrist sharply, wrenching her hand away, then scooted away to sit a few inches farther from me.  
  
"When this is over," she suddenly said, "I want to go to Earth. I want to work there."  
  
I stared at her. Usually I was the restless and impulsive one, where Arcee was... well, Arcee.  
  
"Do you think you can get the transfer?" I finally asked.  
  
She shrugged. "Don't know. I've done a lot of good work here. That should count for something."  
  
I nodded slowly. It was a lot to think about, and all of a sudden. Arcee _was_ good, at almost everything she did. If anyone deserved a transfer, especially after finding that human, it was probably her.  
  
But it was more than that. Arcee and I... well, we went back a ways. Yeah, we squabbled and flirted and competed, and Springer would say that we'd end up taking each other apart bolt by bolt if we didn't settle down, but... I suddenly couldn't picture my life _without_ that. I would miss her. Terribly.  
  
So I didn't know whether I should be encouraging her, or coming up with a way to connive her to stay.  
  
But I also knew, deep down, that I wouldn't stand in her way.  
  
So I sighed and clapped her on the shoulder. "Good luck, 'Cee."  
  
She leaned against me. "Thanks, Roddi."  
  
And of course -- because the laws of averages concerning me say that whenever I've got something nice going, it's gotta be interrupted -- Springer -- and of course, it had to be him -- ducked in.  
  
"Hey, boys and girls," he said. "The Earth 'Bots are comin' in soon, and we thought you might want to be on the welcoming committee."  
  
The arm I had around Arcee's shoulders suddenly fell through empty air. Arcee was across the room and halfway out the door. "Really, Springer? Let's go!" She looked back. "Come on, Hot Rod! I thought you wanted to meet Optimus Prime? Hurry up!" And she ran out the door.  
  
"Seems to me," Springer said with a slightly rueful grin, "that I spend more time chasing after that girl."  
  
Well, I wasn't sure how he really meant that, so I shrugged. "I just try to keep up. Occasionally, I get ahead." I grinned. "The trying is the fun of it."  
  
Then Arcee shouted again for us to hurry, and we both ran to catch up.  
  
Although we still occasionally had to use the space bridge for Earth/Cybertron transportation, we have enough control on Cybertron to slip shuttles through. Omega Supreme was the best at this, everyone says. Few can trace him, despite his size and the amount of power he uses. So it wasn't any real surprise to see that he was the incoming shuttle.  
  
Now, some people think Omega Supreme is the big-dumb type, or else real cold and mechanical. No personality. But I like him. He may not talk much, but when he does, it's pretty important. And he never dismisses us younger ones.  
  
And besides, seeing him rocket in and come down for a landing... that's pretty impressive. One of the few Autobots who can really fly.  
  
Omega touched down, and in a few minutes, the door opened with a hiss and the ramp lowered. 'Landing complete," he rumbled. "Passengers disembark."  
  
And then he appeared at the top of the ramp. The greatest Autobot in history. Optimus Prime.  
  
I'm telling you, he _dwarfs_ the rest of us. He's even bigger than Ultra Magnus. Only Omega Supreme is bigger.  
  
Arcee suddenly stiffened and nudged me sharply.  
  
Down at Prime's feet was a small, black-haired human female. Now, I haven't seen too many humans before, but this one looked a lot like the human on that tape Arcee made -- the human who had turned Decepticon. But what she was doing with the Autobots was beyond me. She certainly wasn't acting like a prisoner. She said something to Prime, and he chuckled at her.  
  
Arcee and I glanced at each other with identical "huh?" faces.  
  
Springer's elbow went into my side; he had seen her too. Arcee and I did tandem shrugs; he expected _us_ to know what's going on?  
  
I recognized some of the other Autobots, too. I had never met Jazz, but his voice was easy to recognize. Wheeljack had labs on both planets and was often shuttling back and forth between them. Bumblebee had been the oldest of us younger 'Bots. Some of the others _looked_ right, but I couldn't put a name to their faces.  
  
So rather than worry about it, I gave Bumblebee a grin and a quick salute.  
  
Prime and Ultra Magnus spoke briefly, then Prime indicated the human, and Magnus went down on one knee to shake hands with her, in the Terran form of greeting. Her entire arm disappeared into his hand, but she laughed with the ease of someone used to that.  
  
Then Magnus gave me one of the biggest shocks of my life -- he waved the three of us over.  
  
Springer bounced over with his normal enthusiasm. Arcee suddenly turned shy and kinda moved behind me, so of course, I had to go.  
  
"And these are the ones who discovered the intruder," Magus was saying.  
  
"Actually, it was Arcee." I caught her arm and pulled her forward. "But we helped."  
  
Prime rumbled a chuckle. "And I'm sure you will be able to help us more. You three are most familiar with the way this saboteur works, what she looks like --"  
  
"Looks like her," I said, pointing at the human before I could stop myself. Arcee kicked me, harder than usual.  
  
The girl snorted. "So I've been told," she said with a wry grin. "I'm Tarla, and I'm definitely _not_ the one you're looking for." The sudden silence made her expression harden. "Despite what you may have heard about me," she added.  
  
I glanced over at Arcee, who was chewing on her lower lip thoughtfully. "I believe you," she said suddenly. She caught my look and scowled, but at me and not at the human. "She couldn't fool _all_ these Autobots," she said defensively, waving her hand at Prime and the others. "Besides, she _feels_ right."  
  
Which settled it for me. Arcee's judgment was never wrong -- even if she had to prove it with a laser burst or two. I grinned at Tarla. "You're in, kiddo. Whatcha wanna see first? I'm the fastest 'Bot to get you there."  
  
"Put it in neutral, Hot Rod," Arcee murmured.  
  
"Jealous?" I taunted her again, then noticed Tarla watching our banter closely, a mixture of envy, sadness, and almost a sullen ferocity. Then it was gone as if she became aware that Prime's gaze had settled on her as well.  
  
"Let's go see where the human was seen last," she said lightly, pushing her hair out of her eyes.  
  
"It would get hideously tangled," I muttered to Arcee and transformed.  
  
CHAPTER THREE  
  
Tarla curled a little tighter in her corner, wrapping the blanket around her and tucking the loose ends under her feet. _Don't the Cybertronians believe in heat at all?_  
  
She had been surprised, and more than a bit disgusted, that these Autobots had really done nothing to try and catch this saboteur. They were too machine-bound, relying on sensors to pick up and record, automatives to guard and alarm. Human readings simply wouldn't show up, and these 'Bots had never thought of that. Even now, they didn't have the slightest idea of what to _do_.  
  
But she did. She knew about sneaking past sensors not designed for human readings. And she knew about doing what was necessary to stay alive. And she knew about living with Decepticons. And she knew about setting the right bait.  
  
It wasn't the 'Bots' fault, really. This was out of the parameters they were used to. But not hers.  
  
Energon had worked as a bait before. It had worked very well.  
  
And if the Cybertron 'Bots weren't expecting a human, chances were this 'Con human wouldn't be expecting a human, either. Her sensors would be set for Transformers.  
  
So Tarla had sent away Prime and the over-eager Hot Rod, and sat along by the newly created energon cylinders.  
  
She needed the time to think, anyway. Her reaction to the banter between Hot Rod and Arcee had bothered her. It had been familiar, something she remembered, but never named.  
  
__ "Megatron wants t'know when that neutra-watchamacallit's gonna be ready."  
  
Starscream looked thoughtfully at the pile of parts on his desk, then looked at the page of notes. "Two hours," he decided.  
  
"Four," Tarla said.  
  
"You dare to tell me my job?" It was part of their on-running joke.  
  
"I wrote all the bloody notes," she retorted. "I also built one."  
  
They glared at each other for a moment, then both turned to Rumble and said, "Three hours," at the same time, and started laughing again.__  
  
__ "Bumblebee, you are creating puddles..."  
  
And no one cheered louder than Bumblebee when Optimus Prime pitched Tarla into the lake.__  
  
It was gone. All of the laughter and lightness that had bound her so tightly to the Transformers. She wanted it back, some of it, _any_ of it. She had died inside, inch by inch, until she no longer had to energy to even try to live like she had, before...  
  
Before.  
  
She had seen part of herself in the comfortable way Hot Rod and Arcee had bickered and joked with each other. But it had been the part of her that had died. And there really wasn't much left to her.  
  
Being alone was the worst. There was simply too much time to hurt in.  
  
She pressed her face into the cloth of the blanket. It was one of the ones she brought with her from Earth, one of the ones that had lined her supply case-bed. She tried desperately to find the scent of jasmine again, but it was gone. Like the part of her that had been alive.  
  
__ Ravage was crouched in a corner, his eyes fixed on Tarla, who was crawling underneath an overturned desk. She came up, covered with a layer of dust. "Doesn't anyone ever clean around her?" she asked. Ravage leapt forward at her and knocked the tennis ball from her hand. "Don't you dare make me crawl after it again," she shouted...__  
  
Footsteps padded nearby, breaking the memories. _Padded_, without the clank of metal. She slowly raised her head as the other human slipped around the corner of the pile of energon cylinders. She knelt, fumbling at the series of grenades clipped to her belt.  
  
Tarla silently pushed the blanket aside. The girl didn't seem to hear her, and sure sign that she had been around Transformers for a long time and was used to the louder sounds they made. But she saw the movement reflected in the cylinders and rolled away, a grenade in her hand....  
  
...and froze at the sight of another human.  
  
Tarla smiled. "Hello." She held out a thermos. "Would you like some hot chocolate?"  
  
The girl stared. "You... you're human."  
  
"Yep!" Tarla said cheerfully, pouring the steaming liquid into two stainless steel cups. "Hadn't you ought to turn that thing off?" she indicated the blinking grenade. "Blood's a bit harder to clean up than nuts and bolts." She sipped from both mugs, then held one out to the girl. "See? Now if the chocolate's poisoned, we'll both die, and my ghost will haunt this place for centuries, and would you _please_ turn that thing off?"  
The girl numbly glanced at the grenade and quickly tapped a sequence into the control panel. The lights stopped blinking and Tarla let out a sigh of relief.  
  
"You look like me," the other girl said softly. She glanced from Tarla to her own reflection on the steel wall.  
  
"And no small amount of trouble that's caused me." Tarla squinted at her. It was almost like looking into a mirror, except for the black eyes, and the girl was a few years younger than she was. More like the age she had been when she first met the Transformers. "They must have gone through a lot of effort to find someone who so closely resembles me. Emotional weapon against Optimus. That sounds like Megatron's thinking."  
  
The grenade came up in her fist again. "You're with the Autobots!" the girl snarled.  
  
"I'm not sure who I'm with," she said softly. "Not anymore. If I ever was." She held out the cup of chocolate again. "My name is Tarla. Here. This is getting cold, and I don't have any more with me."  
  
"Tarla?" the girl whispered. "I've heard of you. You're --"  
  
Tarla's smile went wry. "Screamer's pet? Or Prime's? Let's see, the traitor to both sides? Or is there something new they're calling me that I haven't heard yet?" She set the cup down and pushed it towards the girl with the toe of her sneaker. "Do you have a name?"  
  
"Depends on who you listen to." She stared at the steaming cup as if it was about to explode.  
  
"Well, I can't just call you 'girl'," Tarla said.  
  
"They do."  
  
Tarla regarded her for a moment, then chuckled softly. "They do, don't they?"  
  
"Rust," she said shortly. "They call me Rust." Tarla cocked her head, not sure if she was joking or not, and the girl shrugged. "When I first came here, they said I was just as annoying."  
  
"Where did you come from?"  
  
Rust shrugged again. "Don't remember."  
  
_Amnesia? Memory wipe?_ "Why did they bring you here?"  
  
Rust stared at her blankly.  
  
Tarla shook her head. She had forgotten that the Transformers practically spoke a different language. "What is your function?" she asked gently.  
  
Rust straightened, and her chin came up in a familiar gesture. "To do anything to hinder and destroy the Autobots," she snarled, and Tarla recognized the echoes of Megatron's voice in the girl's.  
  
"Why?" she pressed.  
  
The girl looked confused. "That is my function." She thought for a moment. "Wasn't it yours?"  
  
Tarla smiled slightly and shook her head.  
  
"Then... then what _is_ your function?"  
  
Tarla was silent for a long time. She realized she wasn't much different from Rust. She went, either because she was told to, or because she was running from something. "I haven't found my function, yet," she finally said. "Each time I think I have, it changes." She snorted. "Some Transformer screws it up for me."  
  
"Find?" Rust echoed. "You aren't... given a program?"  
  
Tarla leaned forward, spilling some of her chocolate and not noticing. "Humans aren't programmed," she said, speaking each word carefully. "Humans choose for themselves. This is why the Autobots protect us. So that we can choose."  
  
"The Autobots do not protect!" Rust shouted. "They attack us!"  
  
Tarla sat back, noticed the spilled cocoa and mopped at it with a corner of the blanket with a sharp noise of annoyance. "Check your history of Cybertron, kid. There _were_ no wars until the Decepticons started them."  
  
"You say _you_ have no function," Rust challenged. "Is that one of your choices?"  
  
"At this time," Tarla said, "yes."  
  
Rust's eyes narrowed in confusion. She started to ask a question, but there was a sudden clanging, and the doors slammed shut, cutting off the corner they were in. Rust leapt to one of the doors, pounding on it. "You tricked me!" she screeched with the anger of a betrayed child.  
  
Which she was, Tarla realized. All Rust knew was her function. Everything else, she could only see with the view of a child.  
  
And in that second, Tarla deliberated and decided.  
  
She darted forward, catching Rust's hand as it flew to a grenade. She tore the belt away from the girl and tossed it out of her reach. "Wait a minute," she said, trying for a soothing voice. Rust continued to struggle, but she had never been trained for close fighting. She was a saboteur, who hit from and escaped into shadows. She never would have a chance in hand-to-hand fighting, so the Decepticons had never trained her in any. Still, Tarla couldn't even get a grip on the squirming girl. "Hold!" she ordered, and the calculated authority in her voice made Rust freeze fearfully. Tarla shoved her against the door, then turned to the locking mechanism. She quickly punched in the clearance code that Prime had just given to her that morning. The door began to slide open. "Hurry," she said. "They'll override me any second."  
  
Rust stared at her, eyes wide.  
  
Tarla caught her shoulders. "Listen," she said urgently. "This is my _choice_. Do you understand?"  
  
Rust still stared. Then, slowly she nodded.  
  
Footsteps. Shouting. The door began to close again. Tarla shoved Rust through the opening. "Remember," she said softly. Rust tentatively reached out and touched her hand, then turned and fled into the shadows, disappearing.  
  
The door slid shut between them. Tarla leaned against it, the steel cold against her forehead. She hit it lightly with her clenched fist, then slid down to sit on the cold floor and wait for the Autobots to arrive and take her to Prime.  
  



	4. Default Chapter Title

THE DEEPEST CUTS ARE HEALED BY FAITH  
  
by Kamara   
stealthbunny@msn.com  
  
HOT ROD'S ACCOUNT  
  
Crouching in the small crawlway behind the main computers in our control room was never comfortable, but it was an excellent place to listen in. I've only used it a couple of times. A while back, there was a 'Bot who turned out to be a Decepticon spy. Once he was discovered, everyone started panicking about eavesdroppers. It came down hardest on us younger 'Bots. The older ones never tell us _anything_, so we tended to fend for ourselves with our own network of news gathering. Hey, I knew the choice listening spots better than anyone else! But during that unsettled, panicked time, it honestly wasn't worth getting caught. The older 'Bots seemed a bit frustrated that we didn't seem to be as sharp on the uptake as we used to be, since we had usually overheard news long before we were officially told, but if they knew the reason why, they never said it. Not in front of us, anyway.  
  
But I figured this conference would be worth the risk.  
  
When the news spread that Tarla had released the 'Con human, all sorts of cross-rumors cropped up. Tarla had betrayed us. She had gone Decepticon again. She had always been a 'Con, and Prime was too blind to notice -- that one had set off a few fist-fights. Tarla had been the one doing the sabotage all along. Tarla had killed the 'Con human. The 'Con human had killed Tarla. All humans were really 'Cons, and so on.  
  
But I _liked_ Tarla, and so did Arcee, which I trusted better than my own feelings. In all the time I've known Arcee, she's never missed a judgment call.  
  
There was a sharp pang inside me, whenever I thought of Arcee leaving. I know she's always been fascinated by Earth, but... she'd be _gone_. No one to talk to, to back me up in fights, to fight with, to tease, to dream with...  
  
Aw, heck. I didn't want her to go.  
  
Then I realized I had tuned out the conversation in the room and pushed my thoughts of Arcee away for a while.  
  
There had been a lot of yelling a few minutes ago. Most of the Autobots who had gone to pick up Tarla had been Prime's troops, but the group had picked up several Cybertron 'Bots along the way back, and they were angry. I could hardly blame them, really. The cause of all the trouble had been in our hands, and had been released by another human.  
  
Ultra Magnus had calmed them down and sent them away. Jazz and Bumblebee had been the last to go, staunchly standing between Tarla and the other 'Bots, until Prime himself had told them to leave. Magnus had escorted them out with Kup. He paused at the door for a moment, gazing at Prime thoughtfully, then the door slid shut behind him, leaving Tarla and Prime alone in the control room.  
  
This was what I had wanted to hear.  
  
Prime had said very little. He had been sitting in the back corner, almost as if he was brooding, which didn't really match the legend of Optimus Prime. I could see the blue glow from his optics, but that was about it. Then he stood and moved forward until his back was to me. "Why?" he asked.  
  
Tarla threw her hands in the air and walked a few steps away.  
  
"What were you thinking of when you opened that door?"  
  
She spun around. "What would it have gotten you?" she asked sharply. "You would have cornered a scared and angry Decepticon, who would have been thinking of nothing except the Decepticon way, and that Autobots are enemies. She thinks the Autobots are the killers, not the other way around. You would have nothing but a pure Decepticon, and in doing so, you would have killed any chance of her being anything _but_ a Decepticon. Just like Megatron wants."  
  
"What you _did_ was release a Decepticon who has injured two Autobots."  
  
"No!" she insisted. "What I released was a human who has had her brain wiped clean of all memories and rebuilt in Megatron's way. A human who just today began to have her own thoughts instead of being ordered how to think." The anger seemed to drain from her suddenly, and she stretched out one hand to Prime in an appeal. "What's happened to you, Optimus? What happened to your vows that a human shall not be injured? Is it that child's fault that Megatron raised her like this? Do we just abandon her, without trying to save her?"  
  
"And what happens," Prime said just as gently, "if she goes back, and Megatron, or Shockwave, or whoever is in charge of her wipes out that instant of individual thought again and sends her back out against us. What happens if she kills one of us next time? What if it's Jazz or Bumblebee? Whose fault is it then, Tarla?"  
  
I didn't stay any longer. There was a sick feeling somewhere inside me, and I didn't want to hear any more.  
  
They were both right. And they were both wrong. And they were blinding themselves to each other, not because of causes and right versus wrong, but because of the hurt and bitterness between them.  
  
I suddenly needed to find Arcee. I wanted to hold her, and tell her how special she was, and how brave I thought she was in leaving her world for a new one... there was so much I wanted to tell her, and I had to tell her now, or I'd turn around someday, and she'd be gone, without me having told her.  
  
And if Springer was hanging around her, I'd take him apart, bolt by --  
  
I nearly ran into Arcee as I charged around the corner. She was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and with a glint in her optics that said she knew _exactly_ where I had been and what I had been doing. "So what's going on in there? Who won?"  
  
I blinked for a second. I had been so frantic to find her, that I had forgotten what had set me off. "I don't know. They were arguing about morals when I left." I caught her hands, not quite believing we were alone. She looked from our hands to my face, startled. "Look, 'Cee, I gotta talk to you --"  
  
"They caught you," she gasped. "Primus, how are we going to get you out of this one?"  
  
I stared at her blankly again, then impatiently shook my head. "_No_, I'm not in trouble. I just wanted to talk to you for a moment, alone, and you're _never_ alone, and I was wondering how I was going to get you alone --"  
  
She laughed softly. "Roddi, you're babbling. Ease off your throttle a bit. We're alone now."  
  
"Trust me, it won't last. Arcee, I --"  
  
And Kup walked around the corner. "There you are, lad. I've been looking for you."  
  
"See!" I snarled under my breath and spun away, throwing my hands into the air helplessly.  
  
"Prime wants to see you," Kup finished.  
  
I stopped just short of slamming my fist into the wall. Arcee's optics were frightened, mirroring mine, I supposed. I had been caught.  
  
"Prime?" I squeaked.  
  
"Hurry up, lad. It's not good to keep him waiting."  
  
"Umm..." I turned to Arcee. I didn't know how much trouble I was in, or when I'd see her again. "Gimme a moment, Kup."  
  
I didn't wait for him to answer, but caught Arcee's hand and dragged her away a few paces. "What are we going to do?" she asked in a horrified whisper.  
  
"Never mind that," I said, but I had warmed at the "we". "Look, Arcee, I --" I looked down at her hands in mine. I never noticed how perfectly our hands fit together. "Umm..." I looked at her face again, reached out to touch her cheek gently. "Listen. You... you're real special to me. You've backed me up a lot." Her optics were still wide, but not with fear, and I hurried on, afraid that if I hesitated again, I'd lose courage, or Kup would drag me away, or _something_. "And... and if you want to go to Earth, I think no one deserves it more than you, and if there's anything I can do to get you there, well..." I took a deep breath. "I... I will. Anything."  
  
She suddenly looked scared again, with her own fear, not for me, and she bit her lip. She looked terribly like a lost child, and then it really hit me that I was in love with her. "Roddi, I --" she started.  
  
I quickly pulled her to me in a hug, kissed her forehead, then hurried over to Kup. I glanced once over my shoulder, and she was standing in the middle of the corridor, forlornly watching me walk away.  
  
Kup gave me a strange look, but shrugged. "Come on, lad."  
  
We walked for a few corridors in silence, and I mentally begged for Kup not to say anything, while at the same time, I desperately wanted him to throw his arm around my shoulders in the fatherly concern that both annoyed and comforted me.  
  
"What was that all about?" he finally asked, just as I blurted out, "She wants a transfer."  
  
His optics widened a bit.  
  
"To Earth," I finished miserably.  
  
He nodded. "I see. And you're going with her?"  
  
My head shot up, and I stared at him in surprise. "I... I..." I had never considered it. Cybertron was my home. I loved and fought for it. But... leave it?  
  
But at the same time, I saw Arcee again, watching me walk away with that lost expression, and I wasn't sure I could bear being the one to watch her leave me.  
  
Kup glanced at me again, then threw his arm around my shoulders. "you'll do what feels right t'ya, lad. You always do."  
  
And while I was still mulling that over, he steered me into the control room and kind of gave me a push to stand in front of Prime.  
  
Matrix, he's BIG.  
  
I intently studied my foot drawing a circle on the floor. "Umm... how much trouble am I in? Sir?"  
  
"Trouble?" Prime rumbled with amusement. "What kind of trouble _should_ you be in?"  
  
He didn't know? He _did_ know. Didn't he?  
  
Maybe he didn't.  
  
"Never mind," I squeaked. I thought I heard a chuckle from Kup, but I didn't dare look back at him.  
  
"Kup says you've always been discrete."  
  
Great Cybertron, he _does_ know.  
  
"Ease off, Hot Rod. I'm not planning on eating you." Prime was openly chuckling.  
  
Great. I really am dead, now.  
  
"I have an assignment for you," he continued.  
  
"Yeah. The waste channels need cleaning, right?" It was a threat Kup used often enough, and carried out on a fairly frequent basis. I was real familiar with more than a few of those pipeways.  
  
Kup made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a smothered laugh. I wished I was brave enough to glare at him.  
  
Prime let out a very patient sigh, and I guess he was used to young warriors blurting out stupid things to him, because his optics crinkled in a way that was very close to a grin. "Hot Rod, I was very impressed on your initiative in finding this human saboteur."  
  
"That was Arcee's initiative," I said quickly.  
  
Prime's optics crinkled again. "I am aware of that. But I must say, I am pleased with your honesty. I will be having my own conversation with Arcee later, but I wanted to speak with you first."  
  
I felt that sinking feeling again. He'd talk with Arcee, and she'd ask for that transfer, and if he was as pleased as he _should_ be with her, Prime would grant it.  
  
"What do you think of Tarla?"  
  
Oh, Primus, is this a trick question, or what? "I just met her," I stammered, trying to find a safe answer. "There's a lot of 'Bots who don't like her, but Arcee has one of her good feelings about her, and Bumblebee likes her, too, and that's good enough for me." Then I added quickly, "And you're vouching for her too... I mean..."  
  
I could swear Prime was enjoying this. No one ever warned me the great Optimus Prime had a sadistic streak. "Yes," he said. "I'm rather aware of the rumors."  
  
I caught myself just before I could make the situation even worse by asking which rumors he meant.  
  
"I'm afraid she may be in as much danger from some of the Autobots as from Decepticons. I didn't realize to what extent until we arrived here, and in any case, I still believe my reasons for bringing her are valid. But she didn't help matters any by releasing that human." He sighed. "Tarla means well, but her reasoning is governed mostly by emotion, and she doesn't think about future consequences to her actions. And so, I have to worry about the consequences for her. I'd like you to keep an eye on her for me."  
  
"Me?" I squeaked, then coughed. "But sir... wouldn't one of the Autobots who knows her be a better choice? Like Bumblebee, maybe?"  
  
"Bumblebee's fondness for Tarla is the reason why I don't want him in charge of her." Prime held up a hand when I silently bristled as what sounded like a slight against my friend. "Bumblebee is a valiant warrior, and I mean to say nothing against him. And indeed, he and a few others will be helping you. But Tarla's lack of foresight tends to be contagious, and if she were to draw a weapon and yell 'Charge!', most of my Autobots would jump up and follow her. Fortunately," and his optics crinkled again, "she has yet to feel the urge to do so. The other reason why I am asking you, is that she would know why any of my Autobots suddenly began watching her. I'm afraid she will resent it, and she has a habit of slipping away to handle things in her own fashion. And again, although she means well, her ways of going about it have a history of getting my warriors injured. But I'm hoping your enthusiasm for Earth will explain your presence around her."  
  
Once again, that honesty of mine kicked me in the mouth. "Arcee's really the one with the interest in Earth."  
  
"Yes, but I know you have your own interests... or you wouldn't be having Bumblebee recording and sending you television programs."  
  
Great Matrix, was there _anything_ he missed?  
  
"Besides, I was going to ask the same of Arcee. You two work together well."  
  
I scowled to the floor. Well, at least he wasn't pairing Arcee with Springer.   
  
"Go on, now. Thank you for your help. Oh, and Hot Rod?"  
  
I stopped at the door and turned to him again. "Yes, sir?"  
  
"If you ever listen in on one of my private conversations again, you _will_ be cleaning waste tunnels for the rest of this war."  
  
"Yessir," I squeaked. "Never again, sir." And I fled.  
  
  
CHAPTER FOUR  
  
"Bumblebee, you can stop hovering."  
  
"I'm not hovering. I'm just... helping you settle in." Bumblebee looked around the room. "We really need to set up some human-sized rooms. I can't imagine you'll be the last human on Cybertron, and we should be able to provide something better than some blankets thrown in a corner of a storage room." He blew on the top of a supply case and frowned at the dust that flew.  
  
"I imagine fighting is a higher priority than cleaning," Tarla said with a wry grin.  
  
Bumblebee plopped himself on the floor. "So what do you think of Cybertron?"  
  
Tarla glanced around the room as if it represented the rest of the planet. 'It's... um... very shiny," she offered. "Of course, I haven't seen much of it, yet."  
  
"No, you're right," Bumblebee said. "It's all metal. That's why I think Earth is so fascinating. It's so different. It's so... alive." His face was lit with enthusiasm. "I mean, you go outside here, and the ground is metal. But the ground of Earth _lives_. I can pick up a fistful of it and see life and bugs and stuff. I can _feel_ the life in my hands. That's just so..." He grinned. "So neat!" Then he shrugged. "Not that I don't miss Cybertron a lot. This is my home."  
  
Privately, Tarla was already claustrophobic in the sterile metallic world, despite the way everything in it towered over her. She already missed Earth, for the same reasons Bumblebee had just mentioned. But she couldn't tell Bumblebee that she felt trapped in the metal of his home. "I imagine there are areas that are much nicer than this store room," she said. "This isn't really much to judge a world by."  
  
"No, it isn't." Bumblebee looked rather dreamy for a moment, and Tarla could tell he was running through a mental list. "Maybe Prime'll let me take you to a few places," he said.  
  
There was a polite tap on the door frame, and the two young Autobots, Hot Rod and Arcee, came in. Arcee looked around the storage room in dismay. "Oh, Bumblebee, you're not quartering her _here_, are you?"  
  
"Um..." Bumblebee looked around, in case the room had changed in the past few minutes. "I'm not?"  
  
Arcee gave him a glare of pure disgust, her hands planted firmly on her hips. "Tarla, I would be honored if you would stay with me," she said, with every inch of proper formality.  
  
"Oh, don't go to any trouble," Tarla protested.  
  
"You _can't_ stay in a storage room," Arcee insisted. "They don't put you in one back at the Ark, do they?"  
  
"Well, actually...." Bumblebee withered under another of her glares.  
  
"_Males_," she said in disgust. "I really don't understand you. One of the first humans to visit Cybertron, and you just dump her in a box like she was some cyber pet that followed you home."  
  
"In the beginning, that was rather accurate," Tarla said thoughtfully. "But really, I don't want to inconvenience you or anything."  
  
"You aren't an inconvenience." Then Arcee's optics widened and she suddenly looked like an eager teenager. "Oh, please! I've got so many questions about Earth. I --" and she hesitated shyly. "I want to work there, you see. And there are so many things I want to know. And you really wouldn't be any trouble. It's not like you'll take up much space, and I'd love the company. It would be like a... a slumber party. Is that the right term?"  
  
Tarla glanced at Bumblebee, as if asking permission, which in a way, he supposed she was. She couldn't possibly know for certain who would be on Prime's "approved" list, and she also knew Prime would have to be notified of her new location. He shrugged. "I'm sure it'd be ok." And with that, he knew Tarla would understand that Arcee and Hot Rod were to be trusted.  
  
"Great! Get her stuff, Roddi." Arcee transformed. "Hop in, Tarla."  
  
Hot Rod gave Bumblebee a femmes-what-can-I-do? shrug and picked up Tarla's back pack. It dangled from his fingertips, tiny and insignificant. He tossed it in the air, transformed, and popped his canopy, catching the pack as it fell.  
  
Bumblebee transformed. "Still think you're the Matrix's gift to speed?" He sped out the door, taking the curve on two wheels.  
  
"Crash and burn, Bee," Hot Rod sneered good-naturedly and roared after him.  
  
*  
  
What was Earth like, Arcee had asked as soon as they had left "the guys", and for a few seconds, Tarla had pulled a blank because she didn't know where to start. Then, because her conversation with Bumblebee was still fresh in her mind, she launched into the seasons, how each one made her feel different. She was still maintaining a free-association monologue when Arcee turned a corner and a door a short distance down the corridor whisked open. Arcee paused a minute for Tarla to climb out, then transformed and rather shyly invited her in.  
  
She suddenly reminded Tarla of any of the freshmen in her dorm, inviting someone newly met into their room. A dorm room held the most individuality that students had ever owned. A room at home still held parents; influences, but a dorm room was purely the student's. They were always excited to show off, for it was the first step towards getting to know one's dorm mates. But at the same time, it was releasing a lot of information about the person who lived there.  
Arcee had that same expression of eagerness mixed with trepidation, and Tarla realized her own reaction would be just as important to the young Autobot as it had been to any of her dorm mates.  
  
By Transformers standards, the apartment was very small. There was a living-type room, and a room with a recharging bed, and that was about it. However, the rooms were decorated in soft, muted colors, instead of the bright metallic that seems to be a constant in Transformer decor... or lack thereof. Tarla hadn't realized how much her eyes were aching against the constant glare of light against steel, until they relaxed in the comparative difference. There was a throw-rug on the floor, pictures of Earth nature scenes, and on a small table, a maple tree sapling serving as a house plant.  
  
Tarla smiled up at Arcee. "This is beautiful."  
  
Arcee's face lit up. "You think so?" She gently touched one of the leafs on the tree. "Bumblebee brought this for me. It's one of my favorites, of all my things. I didn't know if it would even survive here, but I guess I've been lucky."  
  
"Plants respond to care and attention, like anything else," Tarla said. "Some people swear that talking to plants or playing music for them really helps them grow."  
  
"Really? Maybe Jazz would know of some plant-growing music."  
  
"If he doesn't, I certainly can find something for you."  
  
Arcee ran through an obviously automatic check for dead leaves and the moisture content of the soil. "And you've seen whole forests of these? Like in my pictures?"  
  
"I go to school near a nature preserve. More trees than people." _Went to school anyway. Doubt they'll let me back in, now, not after Starscream wrecked the landscaping. No, not a time to think about it now._  
  
Arcee sighed wistfully. "This one doesn't turn red, though, like you were saying."  
  
"You don't have an autumn season here."  
  
"No," she said with the same wistful tone. "We don't even have a sun." She stretched, as if she was imagining the warmth of Earth's sun on her skin.  
  
The door shot open and Hot Rod shouldered his way in just ahead of Bumblebee. "Ha! Still the fastest 'Bot on two planets!"  
  
"Only because you hadn't told me she had moved to a different wing, you cheater," Bumblebee snorted.  
  
"'A good warrior is always prepared for the unexpected'," Hot Rod sang out in a quoting voice.  
  
Bumblebee obviously recognized the quote and snorted again. "Hey, Arcee, the tree's looking good!"  
  
She beamed at the attention her tree was receiving. She patted the pot affectionately, then fell into the role of the hostess. "Can I get you anything? Energon goodies, perhaps?" Her expression froze. "Oh, dear. Tarla, I don't think I have anything you _can_ eat."  
  
"Anticipated." Tarla patted her pack. "We brought enough food to last me a while."  
  
"Even more reason why we should set up a human area," Bumblebee said, sitting comfortably on the floor, completing the feeling of a dormitory get-together. _All we need is a pizza to top it off._ Tarla grinned to herself.  
  
"Hmph. _You_ were going to leave her in a storage room," Arcee sniffed. She pointed at the granola bar Tarla was eating. "Is that chocolate?"  
  
Tarla looked at the bar. "This? Oh, no, it's a granola bar. Um... seeds and nuts and grains. Some kinds have chocolate too, but not this one."  
  
"I've heard about chocolate," Arcee said. "It seems to be a vital part of human nutrition."  
  
Tarla grinned again. "There are an awful lot of people who would agree with you."  
  
"What does chocolate taste like?" Tarla looked blankly at her. "Um... like chocolate."  
  
Arcee cocked her head. "That's not very helpful."  
  
"What does energon taste like?" she countered.  
  
"Like energ-- oh, I see what you mean. No frame of reference, right? What, Roddi?"  
  
Tarla turned to look at Hot Rod, who was leaning against a wall, arms folded across his chest. "Huh? Oh, nothing, 'Cee."  
  
Arcee frowned at him in concern, then decided not to press in front of the others. She'd corner him on it later.  
  
Tarla folded the granola bar wrapper and stuffed it in her pocket. "So I'm gathering this is the official changing-of-the-guard?"  
  
Bumblebee was the expert at innocent expressions. "What do you mean?"  
  
Tarla leveled a sarcastic glare at him. He guessed that meant the innocent routine had failed. "Aw, Tarla, ya can't blame Prime for worrying."  
  
She blinked in surprise. "You mean you really were trying to keep it from me?"  
  
"Prime was afraid you'd resent it and take off."  
  
"To where?" she demanded, flinging her arm to indicate Cybertron.  
  
"To the Decepticons, perhaps," Hot Rod said evenly.  
  
"Hot Rod!" Arcee gasped.  
Tarla's face had closed off to the same locked-down expression Bumblebee had seen on her at her college. "That's what everyone is thinking, isn't it?"  
  
"No..." Hot Rod said under Arcee's glare, then shrugged. "Yes."  
  
"Not quite everyone," Bumblebee said loyally.  
  
"Just mostly," Hot Rod said.  
  
"Say that in front of Prime," Bumblebee hissed.  
  
"Stop it, both of you. Hot Rod, what's gotten into you?" Arcee cried.  
  
Hot Rod's expression went sheepish, and he shrugged again. "Just thought it would be best to get it out in the open. Everyone keeps revving around it. So there. It's out. Let's deal with it."  
  
"You could have been a little less blunt about it," Arcee grumbled.  
  
Hot Rod's innocent gaze rivaled one of Bumblebee's. "Would you have listened?" He grinned at Arcee, who surprised him by glancing away. "Occasionally, I know what I'm doing, Arcee."  
  
"Too bad your mouth usually ruins it," she said smoothly. Then she glanced at him, as if trying not to. His grin grew broader, and she gave a short laugh, shaking her head. "You are impossible, Roddi."  
  
"If you two would stop flirting, we can get back on track, here," Bumblebee said.  
  
"We are not flirt--" Arcee began, but there was a knock at the door. "It's me, Springer," came through the tiny speaker on the door frame.  
  
"Oh, who invited him?" Hot Rod said, but in a friendly sort of way.  
  
Arcee still kicked him as she went by. She let Springer in, and he sauntered by to sit in one of the chairs. "Hey, Bee." He grinned at Hot Rod. "I guess our little party is complete, huh?"  
  
"Optimus got to you, too?" Tarla asked with a brightness she really didn't feel.  
  
Springer lost some of his smooth demeanor. "Huh? Oh, I mean, um... no, I --"  
  
"She knows." Hot Rod's was threatening to split his face.  
  
"She does?"  
  
"She does," Tarla said. "I bet I can even paraphrase him. Let's see, it probably started off with protecting me, first from Decepticons, then from well-meaning Autobots, and then from myself."  
  
Springer's jaw had dropped.  
  
"Was I close?" Tarla beamed.  
  
Springer closed his mouth. "Yeah, well..." His gaze fell on Hot Rod. "You told her," he accused.  
  
"Nope," said Hot Rod smugly. "She guessed it all."  
  
"So, does this mean I have to take you to Prime so you can yell at him?" Bumblebee asked.  
  
"No. He's probably right."  
  
Bumblebee stared at her in disbelief.  
  
"No, really," she insisted. "He's mostly right. I mean, he's Optimus. He usually is right. And I'm on the hate list of several Decepticons, and not just a few Autobots. And this is not my world, so I'd just as soon have a few natives watching my back." She grinned. "After all, I'm of a rather squishable size."  
  
"I think," Hot Rod said, watching her carefully, "that Prime was more concerned with you taking off."  
  
"On this planet?" she squawked, then calmed. "Earth might be another situation entirely. But even so, what Optimus is remembering are the actions of a seventeen year old kid. I think he hasn't factored in how much more quickly humans mature than Transformers, because we have such a shorter life span."  
  
Hot Rod still had the mental image of her leading an army of Autobots on a charge, and had a feeling that Prime wasn't very far off on that one at all.  
  
"So what do we do next?" Springer asked.  
  
They all turned and looked at Bumblebee. "Why me?" he demanded.  
  
"You're the senior ranking 'Bot here," Springer said.  
  
"You're older," Bumblebee shot back.  
  
"You're one of Prime's elites."  
  
"Well, I don't have any ideas."  
  
"OK," Springer said, and they all turned to look at Tarla.  
  
"Oh, great," she muttered. "Hey, I'm the whacked-out human you're supposed to be protecting from her own self, remember?"  
  
"Look, Tarla," Bumblebee said, "the reason why Prime brought you was because you _are_ human. You might be able to hit some common ground with this 'Con human."  
  
"Who's not going to come near me if I'm surrounded by Autobots," Tarla pointed out.  
  
There were all silent for a moment, thinking, then Tarla yawned. "Sorry, guys, but I'm beat. I only got a couple of hours sleep on the way here, and my inner clock's a mess."  
  
"That means she's kicking us out because she needs to sleep," Bumblebee translated, smug in his years of experience around humans.  
  
"I _know_ that," Arcee said. She made shoo-ing motions. "Go on, now."  
  
"I dunno, 'Cee," Hot Rod said with a smirk. "Maybe I should stay the night here, in case you need any help on guard."  
  
The energon cup she threw caught him right on the side of his head.  
  
Springer punched Hot Rod's shoulder lightly. "Y'know, kid, there was probably a better way to have phrased that."  
  
"Like you weren't thinking the same thing," Hot Rod sneered.  
  
"But _I_ wasn't the one to say it."  
  
"Out! Both of you." Arcee pointed at the door.   
  
Hot Rod and Springer looked at her, then at each other. "Hey," Springer said, "if we hurry, we can catch the last half of the cyberball game."  
  
"You buyin' the energon drinks?" Hot Rod asked.  
  
"We'll split the cost." They left, but Tarla could hear the banter continue down the corridor.  
  
"Males," Arcee said in disgust.  
  
"The same in every species," Tarla agreed.  
  
"And on that note, I think I'd better leave," Bumblebee said with a resigned sigh. "You'll be all right, here," he said to Tarla.  
  
"Of course I will be." She smiled at him. "Good night, Bee."  
  
"Not that _they're_ gone," he heard Arcee say as the door slid shut behind him, "tell me about snow again."  
  
  



	5. Default Chapter Title

THE DEEPEST CUTS ARE HEALED BY FAITH  
  
by Kamara  
stealthbunny@msn.com  
  
  
  
Hot Rod's Account  
  
  
"You know, you ran your mouth off quite a lot there," Springer said. "Even for you."  
  
I scowled into my cup. "I don't need lessons from you, frog-legs."  
  
Springer lounged back in his chair with a sigh, bracing his legs against the wall and leaning his chair back on two legs. "Might not hurt to pay attention, kiddo."  
  
"Yeah, well, I don't exactly see the femmes hangin' offa ya either."  
  
Springer grunted and let the chair fall back to the floor. He poured himself another cup. I wanted another myself, but I had to relieve Arcee from guard duty in the morning, and sleeping off a hangover through my first shift probably was not the way to impress Prime. At least, not in a good way.  
  
And I _had_ been a bit of a jerk back there. But it had been seeing Arcee talking about Earth like that, with her optics wide and the way her face lit up.  
  
I had found myself wishing that her optics would light that way for me.  
  
And they hadn't, so I had been a jerk. Because then, she would at least notice me, even if it was only to bounce a cup off my head.  
  
"She's really set on going to Earth, isn't she?" Springer finally said, studying his energon.  
  
I grunted, and we both let out twin sighs.  
  
Primus, I had been _such_ a jerk.  
  
CHAPTER 5  
  
A slumber party was exactly what it felt like.  
  
Arcee had thoughtfully dimmed the lights for her, and Tarla's intention really had been to go to sleep, but one topic would segue into another effortlessly. For the first time in years, Tarla had someone she could talk to, without careful editing. For three years, she had lived among humans without being able to mention Transformers. Which, she found, greatly restricted conversation. Almost everything in her life somehow led back to the Transformer.  
  
_Oh, yes, I used to play flute, but then Starscream..._  
  
_I was a science major in high school. Yes, I know I'm studying languages now, but that's because..._  
  
_Yeah, I took a few years off between high school and college, because..._  
  
_Oh, the scars are from when I broke my arm. Well, actually, _I_ didn't break it. You see, there was this Decepticon..._  
  
And the worst of it was that even the safest conversations always seemed to veer off towards something that wasn't safe. It seemed like everything always touched back on the Transformers, somehow.  
  
Sometimes, she found herself wishing she could talk to Spike, or even Carli, although she had never met her. Just to talk to another human who were close to the Transformers, just to see if their lives had become as completely entangled as hers seemed to be. But then, Carli and Spike had each other to talk to. And they didn't have to hide their affiliation from anybody.  
  
It had become easier to simply not to talk to anyone.  
  
It was such a relief to be able to talk to Arcee, without carefully choosing each word. It wasn't long before Tarla was curled in her bed roll, and Arcee was stretched on her stomach on the couch, her chin cushioned on a pillow, and the scene out of a dorm room was once again complete.  
  
"Tarla," Arcee said after a comfortable silence, "what is Optimus Prime really like?"  
  
_Really like?_ Tarla drew a mental blank.  
  
"Unless you'd really rather not talk about him," Arcee added quickly. "But to us--" and Tarla understood she meant the Cybertron Autobots, "-- to us, he's this great hero, the greatest of all the Autobot leaders. But you... you know _him_. The individual. What's that like?"  
  
"He is..." Tarla breathed a laugh. "... Impressive. Noble. And all the other clichés one hears about a leader. But with him, Arcee, the clichés fall so short. And he cares so much. He knows every one of his warriors, and not just by sight and by name, but personally. He once told me that a leader was really only as good as those he commands. That he was a great leader, because he had great warriors. And that if Megatron's troops were half as valiant as his Autobots, the Decepticons would have won a long, long time ago. And he means it, Arcee. He cares about each of his warriors, and still he has to send them out to die. I don't know of anyone who could do that, caring as much as he does, and still stay sane." Tarla laughed again, another breathless, almost silent sound. "I couldn't even stand to witness it, and I had nothing to do with decisions like what he has to make. Just watching them leave, knowing they might not come back, that broke me. And I wasn't the one sending them out. I don't know how Optimus does it. But that's why he's such an incredible leader."  
  
"_That_, I know," Arcee said. "Everyone knows that about Prime. But what is he like when he's not being the leader?"  
  
"He's _never_ not the leader," Tarla said flatly. Then she relented a bit. "Ok, sometimes he has a mischievous streak that peeks through, but he has such a dead-pan way about it that sometimes it takes a beat or two to figure out he's not serious."  
  
Tarla could hear the smile in Arcee's voice. "That's such a nice way to think of him." She punched the cushion she was using as a pillow and settled down again. "And what is Starscream like?"  
  
Tarla closed her eyes, letting herself hide in the darkness. _What she really wants to know is how I could leave Optimus for a Decepticon._ She sighed. _At least, it's one of the nicest ways of phrasing it that I've heard yet."  
  
"You don't have to answer that. I... I guess it wasn't very nice of me to ask."  
  
Tarla rolled over. Arcee's optics glowed in the near-dark. It was such a comforting spring-day-sky blue, that Tarla couldn't take offense. "No, Arcee, it's all right. It's just... not an easy question to answer. Starscream is... complicated." She sat up, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "There's really two completely different aspects to Starscream's personality. There's that ruthless, scheming warrior that everyone knows. Pure Decepticon and all that. But before he was a warrior, he was a scientist. And a really good one. It was amazing, working with him."  
  
"You're a scientist? But you're so young."  
  
Tarla waved her hand in dismissal. "I studied some science. And I was too smart for my own good. It's how I ended up in all this trouble to begin with. I've worked with Wheeljack, too, but that was kind of a different flavor. He's more of an engineer. But Starscream..." and she smiled in the darkness at some memory, not realizing Arcee could see her. "And that's the part of him I met first, you see. But it's not who he is anymore, or who he wants to be. I think I brought out the scientist in him more often, but it wasn't what he wanted. I think he started resenting me for it, and I had to leave, before he consciously realized he was resenting me."  
  
"You think he would have killed you?"  
  
"No," Tarla said quickly, then hesitated. "At least, I'd like to think he wouldn't. But I keep getting reminded that my judgment isn't always the greatest. I think... I think he'd just stop protecting me quite so carefully. And I am small, and easily squishable." Her smile went rueful for a moment, then faded entirely.  
  
"The way I heard it," Arcee said, leaning up on her elbows, "and I'm sure it isn't accurate, but I heard you had several friends on the Decepticon side. Wouldn't they have protected you?"  
  
"There were only a few," Tarla corrected. "But none of them would openly defy Megatron alone. Starscream defying Megatron is an everyday occurrence, but without him as a focal point, no, I don't think anyone would stand forward to protect me. Although," and she grinned, sharp and malevolent, "I have very little doubt that Ravage would take revenge for me."  
  
"Did you live in the Decepticon headquarters?"  
  
"Good God, no. Megatron would have killed me on sight. I caused him to lose face in front of the Autobots, you see. No, Starscream has a few hideaways, and he stashed me in one of them. As long as I wasn't in Megatron's direct line of sight, he was willing to ignore me. I was probably the most well-known secret in the Decepticon ranks." She shrugged. "And eventually, being apart from the headquarters was what made it so easy to leave. As Starscream lost interest in me, he stayed away more and more. I just... walked away. For all I know, I may have been gone for weeks before he even noticed."  
  
Arcee had pillowed her chin again on the cushion. "It wasn't easy for you, was it?" she asked softly, her optics glowing with gentle concern. "Not like the rumors, huh?"  
  
"I've never stopped being scared," Tarla said in a low voice. "Ever second, every minute, until I thought I was going insane with it. And then, just when I thought _maybe_ everyone had forgotten me, and maybe I had myself trained enough not to let something slip, I find Bumblebee bleeding energon all over the road, and here I am, terrified all over again, except this time, everyone hates me."  
  
"Not everyone," Arcee protested.  
  
"No," Tarla said wearily. "I'm protected by a few, but everyone else is sure I'm on the other side. Which means I'm little better off here than I was with the Decepticons."  
  
Arcee was quiet for a moment. Finally, she said, "I'd like to believe we're better than the Decepticons."  
  
"That's what the Decepticons say about the Autobots." Then she felt bad for dumping her own cynicism on Arcee. "No," she said. "The Autobot way is better. It has to be. For both our worlds."  
  
The silence was not quite as comfortable this time, and Tarla searched for a way to reverse the mood again. "Why do you want to come to Earth?"  
  
"I think I need Earth," Arcee said slowly, after a moment of searching for words. "I could say something like Earth needs me to protect it, but that sounds like something Hot Rod would say. And Earth has its guardians. But here, I'm just a member of a strike force. On Earth, I think I can see myself doing more good. I want to protect, not just attack. Not that I'm afraid. I mean, I am, but if I let that take control, I wouldn't be as far ahead as I am now. And I'm good at what I do. The Deceps always underestimate a femme, you know."  
  
Tarla laughed softly. "Yes, I do."  
  
"You would." Arcee sounded surprised. "Yes, you would, wouldn't you? Anyway, I don't think I'm saying this right. I think... Primus, don't take this the wrong way, but I think humans need more protection against Decepticons than other Transformers do. You humans are so fragile compared to us, and Earth is teeming with life. I couldn't bear the thought of it being destroyed by Decepticons. I don't know if I'd make much of a difference, but it would make a difference to myself. ....I'm not making any sense, am I?"  
  
"You are making perfect sense. That was beautiful, Arcee." Tarla shook her head. "You're so much a better person than I am. All I do is run."  
  
"Stop that." Arcee's voice was sharp, and Tarla ducked reflexively. "I may only know rumors of what happened afterwards, but Bumblebee told me how a frightened and nearly defenseless human child infiltrated Decepticon Headquarters and saved Earth, by herself, and was captured and wounded because of it. Wounded by Transformers. You had next to no chance against them, and you knew it going in, and you knew you probably wouldn't be coming out, and you did it anyway. You're only five feet tall, and flesh, against twenty feet of steel. You weren't even a warrior. And everyone keeps forgetting all that because they're so caught up in the rumors of what happened later. But Bumblebee was there, and he told me. Primus, Tarla," and her voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't know if I could ever be as brave as you are."  
  
"It doesn't seem like so much, when you look at everything else," Tarla said in a small voice.   
  
"No, that's the way those idiots who don't know the truth are looking at it." Arcee's voice was firm. She was sitting up now, her optics narrowed, every inch the warrior now. Tarla could easily see this Arcee fending off a squadron of Deceps. "Don't you let yourself see you the way they do. You know the truth. And the ones that care about you, they know the truth too. Oh, Primus, what's wrong?" She carefully sat on the floor next to Tarla. "Those are tears, aren't they? Are you wounded and no one noticed? Oh, I'll have Bumblebee's fenders, I will!"  
  
Tarla rubbed at her face. "No, I'm not hurt. Tears can... they can be good things, too."  
  
"Oh." Arcee chewed on her lip. "I have a lot to learn, about humans, don't I?"  
  
Tarla smiled. "You're off to a great start, Arcee."  
  
She brightened. "Really? I... I wish I knew what it's like. Being human. Not that I don't want to be a Transformer. It's who I am. But I wish I could be human, just for a day. I'd learn so much." She gently touched Tarla's hair with her forefinger. "I've wondered what having hair would be like. It seems so... versatile."  
  
Tarla blew her bangs out of her eyes. "Sometimes the upkeep is a pain."  
  
"Hot Rod keeps telling me it'd get tangled."  
  
"It would." Tarla studied her. "What about Hot Rod?"  
  
Arcee studied her fingers. "What about him?"  
  
"Is he going to Earth, too?"  
  
Arcee shrugged, carefully not looking at her.   
  
"Have you asked him?"  
  
"Why would I do that?"  
  
Tarla gave one of her own abbreviated shrugs. "I don't know. I just thought you guys were a couple."  
  
Arcee caught her breath, then let it out quickly. "We're not. We're... just friends."  
  
"Oh." Tarla ducked her head. _Oh, I really believe that one._ "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to pry."  
  
Arcee fluttered her fingers in dismissal, as if she didn't care, but Tarla could tell it was with relief at the excuse to drop the subject. "I've been bothering you with questions all night. I should be apologizing to you. Anyway, I'm hoping maybe Prime will allow me to visit Seaspray's lake for a day. I think it would be a wonderful step in human/Autobot diplomatic relations, if more Autobots knew what it was like to be human."  
  
"Which would be great, if it were possible," Tarla said, searching through her pack for her hairbrush.  
  
"Well, I imagine Prime doesn't give out permission to just anyone, but I think I'd have a pretty good reason."  
  
Tarla pawed through another pocket, then stopped in mid-search and stared at Arcee. "Huh?"  
  
"Don't you think it's a good reason?"  
  
"For what?"  
  
"To become human for a day, silly."  
  
Tarla kept staring blankly at Arcee. "Why," she asked slowly, "do I have the feeling you aren't talking hypothetically?"  
  
"Because I wasn't."  
  
Tarla held up her hand. "Ok, slow down. Back up."  
  
"Which?"  
  
"Both. What are you talking about?"  
  
"Seaspray's lake."  
  
"Definitely still lost, here."  
  
Arcee gasped, her optics wide, and pressed her hand to her mouth. "Prime never told you about Seaspray's lake? But he must know. Prime knows everything." Then her face turned a rather sick expression as she realized she may have said something she wasn't supposed to.  
  
"Did Optimus brief you?" Tarla asked, and Arcee nodded. "And if I know Optimus, it was pretty thorough on what you _needed_ to know, and what you should and should not pass on to me. And if that wasn't on his list, then he deliberately left it off. Optimus doesn't overlook things."  
  
Arcee relaxed slightly, still not completely reassured.  
  
"You ok?" Tarla asked.  
  
Arcee nodded.  
  
"Good. Now what the hell are we talking about?"  
  
Arcee squirmed for a moment, then sighed. "Do you know who Seaspray is?"  
  
"Never met him."  
  
"Neither have I. He's an Autobot, naval operations. Anyway, he discovered this lake that can make you shift forms. It's supposed to be a secret, but I think almost everyone knows. Like you said, the most well-known secret. According to Bumblebee, there are a few Autobots with human girlfriends, and they use it. I'm sure Prime knows, but he selectively notices."  
  
"It changes Transformers into humans?" Tarla asked carefully.  
  
"And humans into Transformers."  
  
Tarla looked at her hands. They were suddenly cold, and she realized it wasn't just her hands, but her whole body. She wrapped one of the blankets around her shoulders, rocking slightly. "Why didn't he tell me?" she whispered.  
  
Arcee sorted through a variety of answers, then spread her empty hands out in front of her in a gesture of defeat. "I don't know." She watched Tarla huddle further into the folds of the blanket. "Tarla, would it have made a difference in any of the decisions you made?"  
  
Tarla's eyes were haunted. "I don't know," she whispered. "It might have. Oh, it might have." She pressed her hands against her mouth. Her fingers shook.  
  
Arcee caught her hands and pulled them away from her face. "You can't go back and change it, can you? All right. Prime must have had a good reason not to tell you, and there's no use getting upset about it until you know what it is."  
  
Tarla took a deep breath and nodded, but the haunted look hadn't left her eyes, and Arcee could tell that her words had been of little comfort. "Do you want to go yell at him?" she suggested tentatively, although it was the last thing she wanted to be a part of. "Bumblebee acted as though that was the usual thing to do."  
  
A bit of humor crept into Tarla's face. "No. I've only yelled at Optimus once, and by the time I actually got to him to yell at, I had already spent most of my anger by rehearsing to Bumblebee at the top of my lungs. That's probably where he got that idea." She cocked her head. "Optimus isn't an easy person to yell at."  
  
"I wouldn't think so," Arcee said in relief. "I'm sorry. I never meant to upset you so. I just thought you knew. It was part of the myth that had built up around you. Everyone thought you knew."  
  
"Which added a while different intensity to the rumors, didn't it?"  
  
Arcee shrugged in a way that meant it had.  
  
"I think I'm glad I missed that one entirely."  
  
"Is there anything I can do to help?"  
  
Tarla's mouth curved into a smile, but it was her sharp and joyless one. "Yeah. Keep watching my back for me. 'Cause when the Deceps find out I'm around the Autobots again, it'll be open season on Tarla."  
  
"And that girl knows."  
  
"Yeah, but I'm not sure she's going to say anything. Not yet, anyway. It must have been a huge shock for her to see me. I think I'm the first human she remembers seeing. It much have thrown her for a loop, but I'm betting she's curious as hell. And maybe a little relieved that she's not the only human around."  
  
"Oh!" Arcee suddenly looked a little startled.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing. Not anything to worry about, anyway. But I suddenly kind of knew what she felt like." She leaned forward. "See, there aren't too many femmes. At least, not in this force. And I was just thinking how nice it was that you were here. Because I can't talk to Roddi or anyone else like I have been with you."  
  
This time, Tarla's smile was more genuine. "I had been thinking that about you, earlier."  
  
"That poor child. She must be so lonely. We have to be able to help her somehow."  
  
"Only if she wants to be helped."  
  
Arcee didn't seem to hear her. "I thought I had it bad, but I don't know what it must be like, to be that alone. At least Aleeta-One and her warriors come through occasionally, and them I'm not the only femme around. Even if they are older."  
  
"Aleeta-One," Tarla echoed. Prime's girlfriend, his mate for millions of years. She had almost forgotten, shoved the memory far back into her mind, thinking that if she never saw Prime again, she'd never have to even remember. The cold came back again, more intense than before. She had this horrible feeling that she had forgotten how to breathe.  
  
Arcee gazed at her in dismay, with an I-blew-it-again expression. "They haven't seen each other in a long time," she said weakly. "They're both leaders, and the War..."  
  
"The War always comes first." Tarla brushed her hair away from her eyes. Her fingers were frozen. "Oh, God, how could I have..." She gave a short laugh. "Oh, now I really have to have a talk with Optimus. I just have no idea how to." She laughed again, bitter and harsh. "I'm really wishing Bee had found someone else to break down in front of."  
  
Arcee was twisting her fingers around each other. "I'm sorry."  
  
Tarla waved a hand, rather amazed to find that it wasn't too frozen to work. "Don't apologize for my stupidity, Arcee. I knew all about Aleeta. I just didn't let myself think about it."  
  
"Can I ask another question, then? Since I don't think I can make anything worse."  
  
"Never say that," Tarla warned. "Go ahead and ask. Believe me, Arcee, you've done more good for me than harm."  
  
"I have?" She debated leaving it there, on the good note, but she wasn't sure she'd convince herself to try and ask again. "You've... seen Megatron, right? Been around him?"  
  
Tarla's face drained of color.   
  
"There are a lot of horror stories about him..." Arcee trailed off.  
  
It took a moment for Tarla to find her voice again. When she did, it was hard and low, filled with terror. "The stories can't begin to describe him. He's worse. much worse."  
  
"Some say he's insane," Arcee whispered. "That's the only way he can do what he does, because he's mad."  
  
"No, Arcee," and Tarla's voice was even softer than Arcee's whisper. "Megatron is completely sane. That's why he's so terrifying."  
  



	6. Default Chapter Title

The Deepest Cuts are Healed by Faith  
  
by Kamara  
stealthbunny@msn.com  
  
Hot Rod's Account  
  
I showed up at Arcee's the next morning, feeling as bleary as if I was hung over in spite of my efforts. My intentions had been good, but I had been angry at myself, and hadn't slept worth a damn.  
  
I was surprised, however, when Arcee answered the door, looking as bad as I felt. "You look terrible," I blurted out before I could think.  
  
I am _such_ an idiot.  
  
Arcee's optics closed, as if praying for strength. Or maybe she was imagining me as a pile of scrap. With Arcee, either was a good possibility. "Thanks, Hot Rod," she snarled. "That makes me feel _so_ much better."  
  
"I didn't mean... I mean... is everything all right?"  
  
She regarded me for a long moment, through narrowed optics, her arms crossed angrily over her chest plate. "Everything's fine," she said in a brisk voice. "We were just up all night girl-talking."  
  
I was _so_ out of my element here. "That's good," I said, hoping desperately that was the right thing to say. "Did I come too early?"  
  
"Doesn't matter to me. I'm on guard duty until you get here. Whenever you decide to show."  
  
"Am I late, then?" I asked, really floundering now.  
  
"No. Tarla's just getting dressed." She looked over her shoulder, then came out into the corridor, letting the door slid shut behind her. "Look, she needs to talk to Prime today."  
  
I shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Whatever. I figured that was probably on the agenda somewhere."  
  
"No," she insisted. "She _really_ needs to talk to Prime. As in alone. Understand?"  
  
"No problem."  
  
Her optics were narrowed again. "You sure? 'Cause if you can't handle it, I can take a double shift--"  
  
"I can handle it, Arcee," I interrupted, and before I could stop myself, I heard some idiot with my voice say, "You keep up this attitude, kiddo, and I'll chuck you on the next Earth-bound shuttle myself."  
  
Her optics went wide so suddenly, that I thought she really was going to slag me this time. Then she bit her lip, in that little unsure gesture that always made me want to blast away whatever was hurting her. Except it was me doing the hurting this time. I opened my mouth to apologize, but her jaw clenched. She hissed, "Don't worry, Hot Rod. I'll probably be long gone before you come down enough from your ego trip to even notice." She turned on her heel and stalked into her quarters again.  
  
Leaving me alone in the corridor, seriously considering smashing my head against the wall. It certainly wouldn't damage me -- I obviously was broken already.  
  
How could I be so _stupid_?  
  
CHAPTER SIX  
  
Tarla could tell that whatever had happened between the two Autobots, it was far from their usual banter. Arcee passed it off, shrugging lightly, but her hands were balled into fists and her face was closed off against whatever emotions were going to war.  
  
Hot Rod wasn't looking much better out in the corridor, but he still grinned at her. It wasn't quite as cocky as usual, but it was close. "Hi."  
  
She squinted up at him. "You want to assign me to someone else for a while, so you two can talk?"  
  
Hot Rod gave the door a wary look. "Arcee can be pretty... lethal when she's angry."  
  
"Oh."  
  
They stared at the door together, then Hot Rod sighed. "Hey, I just talked to Prime, and he wanted to see you when you were up and around."  
  
"Oh," she said again, but her mouth curled into a sharp smile. "Goody. I want to talk to him, too."  
  
For a brief instant, she reminded him frighteningly of an angry Arcee, and he wondered just what the two females _had_ been talking about all night. He shuddered, and quickly decided he really didn't want to know. It was probably safer that way. He transformed and popped his canopy open for her.  
  
They found Prime in the control room. It was hardly a lucky guess, since Hot Rod had radioed ahead between deciding not to bash his head into the wall, and Tarla leaving Arcee's quarters. He figured Tarla really didn't need to know that he had arranged the meeting, rather than responding to Prime's orders. Arcee wanted them to talk. He was at least going to get them in the same room together.  
  
Prime was going over something on the monitors with Ultra Magnus and Jazz. Hot Rod caught a glimpse of schematic and blue-prints as Tarla climbed out so he could transform. "Come on," he said, when she moved to sit in the corner.  
  
"No. I'll wait here, 'til he's done."  
  
"Why?"  
  
She rubbed her forehead. Her head and eyes ached from lack of sleep and haunting nightmares of Megatron. "There's enough mistrust of me. I shouldn't even been in this room, if they're talking tactics."  
  
"We aren't," Prime said. "This is a chart of the locations of the sabotages. I'd like Arcee to put more of her cameras up, with real-time feeds, in all of the encircling corridors and facility rooms. Magnus, give her all the equipment and personnel she requires. But give her a few more hours of rest, first."  
  
"I'll get started on reassigning personnel, both to set up cameras and for surveillance," Magnus said.  
  
"Make it a small team, the ones actually setting up the cameras," Tarla suggested. "You get a lot of traffic in those areas, and it'll scare her off. The 'Cons might decide to relocate her, and we'll have no idea where to look until you start having losses again." She rubbed her forehead again, massaging her temples. 'You know, if the 'Cons could do this with one human, they can do it with more. Your sensors really need to be updated throughout all your facilities." She realized they were all gazing at her, with full attention, and she ducked her head, hiding behind her bangs. "Sorry. I shouldn't be telling you your job. You've probably already thought of all that, anyway."  
  
"Human infestation," Magnus mused, then smiled. "Sorry, Tarla. No offense meant."  
  
"None taken," she assured. "It's rather accurate, you know. Like mice chewing electronic cables."  
  
"Mice?"  
  
Tarla made an it's-not-important wave. "One little rodent could cause a power black-out over an area several city-blocks wide, just by chewing through one cable."  
  
Magnus grimaced. "Right. I'll get started."  
"Tarla, we brought you here for your suggestions," Prime said. "_Any_ suggestions. Keep them coming." Then he really looked at her. "You look terrible."  
  
Hot Rod quickly stepped behind the much-larger-and-therefore-sheltering Ultra Magnus.  
  
Tarla pushed her hair out of her eyes. "Let's see.... I've only had a few hours sleep in what -- I think I'm up to seventy two hours now. I don't know what day it is. I'm not even on my own planet. And to really make it worse, I forgot to bring any coffee, and I'm starting to go through caffeine withdrawal, which really isn't going to be pretty." She beamed. "Thank you for asking, though."  
  
Jazz clapped Hot Rod's shoulder. "C'mon, kid. Let's go see if Spike left any coffee here. Bumblebee would know."  
  
"How come he gets thanked?" They heard Hot Rod complain to Jazz. "Arcee tried to take my head off for saying the same thing, but _he_ gets thanked."  
  
"Well, now, Roddi, you just listen to ol' Jazz's advice on femmes..." Their voices faded.  
  
Magnus held up his electronic reader of notes in silent explanation and left after them.  
  
"No coffee, huh?" Prime said. "Did you bring tea?"  
  
She shook her head. "I don't drink it anymore. Switched to coffee my first semester during midterms. Couldn't go back. Am I keeping you from anything?"  
  
"Not right at this moment." He settled in one of the chairs behind a workstation. "What science were you studying?"  
  
"I wasn't. Languages."  
  
Prime sat back in surprise. "Why? You were so talented in the sciences."  
  
She shrugged, studying her fingernails. "I was afraid it would draw too much attention. Especially since some of my knowledge was not from Terran studies. So I went in an entirely different direction."  
  
"You gave up a lot because of us, didn't you?"  
  
She flicked her fingers in dismissal.  
  
He saw the truth behind the gesture. He suddenly couldn't sit still and began to pace, trying to cover it by moving from one monitor to another, studying each display briefly before moving to the next.  
  
"I spent a year traveling," she offered.  
  
"Running?"  
  
"I liked my way of putting it better."  
  
He let her have it. "Where'd you go?"  
  
"Down the west coast. I was afraid I'd get caught somehow leaving the country, or I would have checked out Canada. I spent some time in San Francisco, then in Monterey. I was in San Diego for a few weeks, but Ravage found me there. I headed back north again after that. Then, things seemed to settle down a bit, so I went back to school."  
  
"The Decepticons began focusing on Cybertron again, instead of Earth."  
  
"So I'm gathering. Things got a lot quieter for me then. Not that the Decepticons were concentrating on finding me, but they just always seemed to be around. They're a lot more visible than you guys are."  
  
"We do try to blend in as much as we can, if only to avoid detection. The collateral damage from one of our battles can be... immense."  
  
"I hadn't noticed," she said, deadpan.  
  
"I didn't think you had," he answered in the same tone.  
  
She grinned, in spite of the headache.  
  
"Where else did you go? Did you see many places?" he asked, just wanting to hear her talk.  
  
Tarla curled up on the floor, her back against the wall. "I saw a lot of road," she said. "And that was a real pain. I didn't really dare hitch rides, because God only knows who would pick me up. Although, to be truthful, after Megatron, trouble from humans just doesn't seem as much of a threat."  
  
"You were still lucky," Prime said. He had a mental image of Tarla, tiny and helpless, being pulled into a car. His fists clenched. And she had run away from all the protection he had offered.  
  
"I guess so," she said in dismissal, answering his words, not his emotions. "Anyway, sometimes I wish I had just traveled more, for another year maybe. There's just so much out there to see."  
  
"Your world is very beautiful," Prime agreed, bending over a monitor to scan the information on it.  
  
"Yeah, and there are so many places I've heard of, but don't really know much about. Like Yellowstone, the Grand Canyon..." She watched him through narrowed eyes as me moved to another workstation. "... Seaspray's lake..."  
  
Prime tripped over the leg of the chair in front of the workstation. He caught the chair before it could topple over and carefully righted it. He caught Tarla's reflection in the monitor; she was smiling with evil satisfaction. "You found out about that, did you?"  
  
"Was I not supposed to?"  
  
"No," he said heavily.  
  
"Good. Arcee nearly freaked when she realized I didn't know about it. She was sure she had blabbed about something top secret, and that you were going to rip her apart."  
  
He looked pained. "I have never ripped any of my warriors apart."  
  
"She'll be glad to know that."  
  
"And if I hadn't wanted you to know, I would have told her that."  
  
"That's what I told her." She cocked her head. "So why didn't you tell me about it?"  
  
He spread his hands out in front of him. "Part of it was... timing. I hadn't considered the possibility..." He stopped speaking for a moment, being so obvious about choosing his words, that Tarla was fascinated by the process of emotions crossing his face. "I don't think I realized that I... cared so much," he said finally, "until we were packaging you off to Decepticon headquarters. And then I couldn't tell you, because..." He stopped again, then sat down, gazing at her in that steady way he had. "...because logically, I didn't expect you to survive. I didn't see how you could. And if you weren't killed outright, Megatron _would_ get any information out of you that he wanted. And if Decepticons could take on a human shape, your world would be in even more danger."  
  
"Hell of an effective infiltration tool," she agreed.  
  
"Logic says that I should have it destroyed, rather than it becoming a weapon." Then he shook his head. "But we have destroyed so much in this War, and it is not a thing of your world, not ours. I... don't have the right to destroy it. So we guard it. Carefully. But perhaps, it is being used too much for our convenience, and I shall have to start setting restrictions. The more it is used, the more the chance grows of the Decepticons finding it." He watched her carefully, trying to judge her reaction, but her face was closed off, and he simply couldn't read it. Even after all these years of living with humans, he still found it hard to understand them. She was often better at scanning him then he was at her. Although, maybe Jazz was right, and it was just that femmes were better at analyzing emotions than males were, regardless of species.  
  
"Then you came back," he said softly, "and I would have told you then. But you were so desperate to leave... and I had to give you that freedom. Do I didn't tell you then, either. And then, when we learned you were with Starscream..." He shrugged slightly. "it had been the... safest decision, not to tell you. Megatron will find out about the lake, eventually, but we will keep it from him as long as possible. Not that he'd ever choose a human form. He holds humans in disgust."  
  
Tarla remembered blazing red optics over a huge fusion cannon, and shivered. Even after years, the terror was still freshly vivid.  
  
"Which is why his using a human now surprises me so much." Prime leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced. "Parts of it ring true to his personality. Picking a human that looks so much like you, for example. And using her here on Cybertron, because no one here would know how to handle it. That's pure Megatron. But he doesn't like to do things on small scales. This human isn't winning him any battles, or providing him with an energon source. It's just... an annoyance. Perhaps more psychological than anything else."  
  
"I think someone else came up with the idea," Tarla said. "Soundwave, perhaps, since so many of his children are spies and infiltrates. And Megatron took the idea and ran with it." Prime twitched a little, at the image of Soundwave's cassettes being his children, but he let it pass, storing it away to think about at another time. Tarla was picking at her shoelaces, not looking at him, and didn't notice. "Maybe they had intended it to be me, at first, but it just didn't go in that direction."  
  
"I had thought f that, too," Prime said.  
  
She scowled at her sneakers. "I brought it on myself."  
  
He didn't say anything, because the words of comfort that came so easily to him on the battlefield and hospital bays would not bring the same comfort to her.  
  
"But I hate it," she snarled. "I hate the way everyone looks at me. I hate the way I'll never fit in a normal world again. I hate the way I'm constantly looking over my shoulder. And most of all, I hate that I'm going to pay the rest of my life for a mistake I made when I was just a kid."  
  
He still didn't say anything. This type of ferocity was not something he had ever seen in her. It had the flavor of some other influence, this person she had grown into. Ravage, perhaps. He wondered how deeply the flavor had seeped into her. He missed her laugh and her pixie grin.  
  
She shrugged, the anger not gone, but simply muted into control. "Sorry. Feeling sorry for myself ain't gonna help, I know."  
  
"I told you about Orion Pax's mistake," he said quietly. "I've spent the rest of my life trying to make up for that mistake I made when I was young, and I still don't feel like I have, all these millennia later."  
  
She whimpered. "Optimus, you are the greatest person I know. There's no way I can ever measure up to you, and if you haven't found some sort of healing, how will I ever?" She buried her face in her hands. "It's like I'm dead inside, Optimus. I don't want to live like this."  
  
"I think," he said slowly, "or rather, I believe, that eventually, you can repay for your mistakes. That's a generic "you", by the way, not you personally. And over time, you will heal. But it takes work. And it takes faith. Faith in yourself, in that you are strong enough to want to try. And you must have some desire for that, because you are here, and not still running."  
  
After a long moment, she looked up. "Arcee thinks I'm believing the rumors too much. She had to remind me that I helped save the Earth."  
  
"No," he said sharply. "You _did_ save it. Never forget that, Tarla. I haven't. And I knew what it took for you to take on that mission. And that is why I still have hope for you. Because I have faith in you, even if you don't. Or I never would have brought you with us."  
  
She was trying to hide her blush by ducking her head, hiding behind her shaggy hair, and Prime could tell that it had been a long time since she had thought any good of herself, and praise had become almost painful for her to hear. "God, I wish I had some coffee," she murmured, then added a little louder, "I really have to bring up something else, and I would be a lot happier if I had some coffee in me first --"  
  
"Aleeta-One," he said.  
  
Her jaw dropped. She recovered and frowned at him. "Stop doing that."  
  
"Doing what?"  
  
"Second-guessing me. Especially so easily."  
  
His optics crinkled in his version of a smile. "I'm a leader. I _have_ to second-guess. It's part of the job description." Then he dropped the amusement. "I haven't seen Aleeta since before the jeonide-ten incident. We've talked a few times, but not recently. She leads her own strike-force, you see. And we have not discussed... how our relationship falls in this war. The War always comes first. It has to."  
  
"Yeah, I had kinda noticed that, too," she said dryly.  
  
"We found it!" Hot Rod announced as he came in with Bumblebee. He held up a tiny canister, minuscule between his finger and thumb. "You shall soon have your coffee, m'lady." He set the canister down and rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Everything's under control here. Now! Um... how do you make coffee?"  
  
*  
  
Bumblebee ended up making the coffee, which fascinated Tarla. He cited his years of experience around Spike and Sparkplug, who apparently drank vast quantities of the stuff. "Obviously you are not a true addict," he teased, "if you actually forgot to bring any. It's always the first thing on Spike's list. Sometimes even before Carli."  
  
"Oooh, don't tell her that. You know, I can make it myself."  
  
"Nope, I'm in charge of coffee on Cybertron. Wheeljack had to come up with a special gadget to brew coffee using Cybertron power sources. We couldn't just plug a coffee maker into a wall socket, here."  
  
"You could have just brought instant."  
  
"Now, I now you aren't a true addict, if you're willing to settle for that stuff," Bumblebee scoffed."  
  
"A coffee-maker doesn't work when you're living out of a tent, either," she retorted.  
  
"Oh. Good point."  
  
The scary thing, she reflected later, was that the coffee was really good, and she was afraid to ask Bumblebee if he had slipped anything in it. For all she knew, his secret ingredient might be energon or something oily.  
  
Still, if was good, and it obviously hadn't done Spike any harm. She filled her thermos. Her headache started to ease with the first sip. _It might be an addiction, but God, what a thing to be addicted to!_  
  
"But I'm not sure how much more good I'm going to be," she said, once they were back in the control room. "Rust is hardly going to approach me if I'm surrounded by Autobots. Wouldn't Spike be a better choice, if you still think this human-to-human approach is best?"  
  
"It was also your experience with the Decepticons, that I wanted to use," Prime said. "You might understand something in her reasoning that we might not."  
  
"And that I'm a familiar face to the Decepticon side?"  
  
"That, too," he agreed.  
  
"'Sides, Carli would never let Spike leave this close to the wedding," Bumblebee put in."  
  
"And I would be reluctant to ask that of him, unless we have no other option," Prime said.  
  
"Wait a minute. What wedding?" Tarla asked.  
  
"Carli and Spike's." Bumblebee beamed. "I'm the best man."  
  
Tarla blinked, then carefully set her coffee aside. In a quick motion, she yanked off her sneaker and hurled it at Bumblebee.  
  
"You see?" Hot Rod said. "That's why I don't understand femmes. They're always throwing things at a guy!"  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?" Tarla demanded. She glared at Prime. Observing that she still had one sneaker, he quickly stepped out of her throwing range. "We've been a little busy," he tried.  
  
She snorted. "I believe, 'Oh, Tarla, by the way, Spike and Carli are getting married' takes less then ten seconds to say." She turned her glare on Bumblebee again.  
  
"You can't damage me," Bumblebee warned. "I am the Maker of Coffee, remember?"  
  
She rolled her eyes. "All right. I guess I'll have to let you live."  
  
"I appreciate you sparing one of my warriors," Prime said in a voice that was not completely without amusement, but rang with enough authority to pull their attention back to the real matter at hand.  
  
"I've got a suggestion, but you aren't going to like it," Tarla warned.  
  
"Distract the Decepticons away and leave you unattended somewhere and available for Rust to find you?" Prime asked.  
  
She pointed at him. "I told you to stop doing that."  
  
"You're right. I don't like it. So let's improve on it. Leaving you unattended is out of the question."  
  
"Set some of those cameras up and have someone watching me."  
  
"We wouldn't be able to get to you quickly enough," Hot Rod said.  
  
"I though you were the fastest 'Bot on two planets," Bumblebee murmured. Hot Rod sneered at him.  
  
"Did Wheeljack ever finish working on that cloaking device?" Tarla asked Prime.  
  
"I'll ask him, but I don't think it ever passed the prototype stage. Decepticon sensors were simply too advanced."  
  
"Yeah, but how much hardware can Rust be carrying around?" Bumblebee asked. "She's even smaller than Tarla. I'll bet her sensors aren't that strong. that prototype might be enough to hide from them."  
  
"Good point." Prime jotted a note on the digital pad sitting nearby. "Even as used to humans as we are, it is still hard to think in such limited size."  
  
Tarla studied her coffee. "Ya oughta try being human for a day, Optimus," she murmured. "It'd give you a whole new insight on humans."  
  
He gave her a sharp not-now glance. She pretended she hadn't noticed by topping off her coffee with fresh from the thermos. Her headache was almost gone now.  
  
"I'll stay with Tarla," Hot Rod offered.  
  
"The Autobot that does has to be able to stay quiet," Prime said.  
  
"And you couldn't keep your mouth shut if you life depended on it," Bumblebee said with a grin.  
  
"And you're any better?" Hot Rod challenged.  
  
They mock-glared at each other, then Bumblebee shrugged and Hot Rod shook his head. "Arcee," they said in unison.  
  
"Yes, I believe so," Prime agreed. "She is also smaller, which may be more beneficial. Fewer readings for the prototype to conceal. As for the distraction, I think we may have over-used the energon-bait tactic."  
  
"Let Megatron know you're on Cybertron," Tarla said, and they all noticed how every trace of amusement had vanished from her voice. She wouldn't look up form her coffee. 'It'd get him up here faster than anything else, trying to figure out what you're up to."  
  
Prime looked thoughtful. "Yes, it would, wouldn't it?" His optics glinted suddenly, and Tarla had the firm impression that leading Megatron on a wild-Autobot chase appealed to him. _Kinda payback, for all the times it's been the other way around._ Then he sighed a little, regretfully, and Tarla knew responsibility had brought him back. "Very well. We have a place to start. I'll work out a few more details with Magnus. Tarla, go get some more rest."  
  
Her chin came up in that familiar gesture that meant he was probably going to lose whatever argument was coming next. "Tarla," he said, before the argument could really start, "Your judgment will be impaired if you try to function on as little sleep as you've had. You aren't the only one at stake here."  
  
She winced. He hated causing her pain to simply make a point... but then, there was no simplicity involved when it meant his warriors' lives. "Optimus, there's no way I can sleep, with the coffee I just drank. Give me a couple of hours to work the caffeine off, and I promise I'll crash."  
  
"That would hurt," he said gravely. She cocked her head. "Crashing," he elaborated. The humor was the only apology he could give.  
  
She rolled her eyes, and for a brief second, the pixie grin flitted through. Then the communicator on the central station blipped for attention, and her grin vanished, as if she expected bad news, and therefore, to be blamed for it. She glance at him, then quickly looked away, and he hoped she hadn't read in his optics any of the pity he was feeling.  
  
The blip came again. "Prime, here," he answered.  
  
"Hey, Optimus," came Wheeljack's voice. "If ya happen to know where Tarla is, could ya send her to my lab?"  
  
"Affirmative, Wheeljack. She's on her way." He keyed off the communication. "But afterwards..."  
  
"Sleep. Yes, Optimus." She stood up and beamed at Bumblebee and Hot Rod. "So which one of you has babysitting duties?"  
  
"That's me." Hot Rod transformed and waited.  
  
"Optimus," she said softly, "we aren't finished talking yet."  
  
"We are for now," he said.  
  
"Yeah, but don't think you're getting off that lightly. Hey, Bee," she called. "Can I get my shoe back?"  
  
"Are you nuts? Why should I give you ammunition?"  
  
"Aw, hell, Bee. You guys have no idea how cold these floors are."  
  
"Shoulda thought of that before ya threw it, huh?"  
  
*  
  
Tarla had seen Wheeljack's lab back on the Ark. It had been cluttered with stacks of parts far taller than she was. The first time she had walked in, she had been nervous that she'd bump against a pile and get crushed by the resulting landslide. There must have been some sort of organization in Wheeljack-ian logic, because he never had to search for long before he found whatever it was he was looking for amidst the piles. It was a fascinating process to watch.  
  
So she thought she knew what to except when Hot Rod dropped her off. And when she was surprised at the sheer _size_ of the room, she told herself that she probably shouldn't be. The Ark, after all, had not been intended as a military base, and Wheeljack's complaints about lack of space had a great deal of validity to them. Even four years ago, he had been itching to design a city for them, and he had shown Tarla some designs he had been playing with.  
  
But now, seeing the comparative size difference between the two labs, Tarla had more of an understanding. She could also see why Wheeljack always jumped at the change to make a trip to Cybertron. _He'll probably load Omega Supreme to the brim with stuff to take back._  
  
"Hey, Wheeljack?" she called, feeling even tinier than usual as her voice echoed through the stacks of parts and components. "I think I'm lost! Where are you?"  
  
"Over here, Tarla."  
  
"Which way is here?"  
  
"Oh. Sorry." He appeared around a stack. "I forgot you couldn't see over the tops of these."  
  
"If there's a human who can, I'd be afraid to meet him." She followed him through the maze. "So what's up?"  
  
"Well, actually, I've got something for ya." He realized he had outdistanced her with his quick stride and slowed so she could catch up. He carefully matched his pace to hers. "Now, I'm a little worried 'bout you, kiddo. You're pretty small, even for a human, and it's just too easy for you t'get hurt. And I felt real bad, that I was out of action during that whole J-ten thing. I can't help thinkin' that if I had been up and around, maybe I coulda put something together that would've protected ya better."  
  
"Wheeljack," she said, "I was the reason you got hurt."  
  
He snorted. "I just didn't duck fact enough, Tarla, and ol' Skywarp never shoulda been able to get his crosshairs on me. 'Sides, I've been hurt worse 'n that just testin' my own inventions. It was bad timin', is all, an' don't let me catch you saying any different. I was proud of you, when I heard of what you'd done. That would have been a hard job for one a' us to have pulled off."  
  
"It was what I did later, that was the problem," she muttered.  
  
His sharp audio receptors picked up what she really hadn't intended him to hear. 'Everyone makes mistakes, kiddo. I should know, seein' as how many times my gadgets blow up in my face. But mistakes can be fixed, providin' ya want to bad enough. And speakin' of my gadgets..."  
  
"It's not one that's going to blow up in my face, is it?" she asked in a light attempt to tease.  
  
"Nope. It's a prototype, yeah, but it's been tested. It was something I originally had in mind for you, 'cause it just seemed right for you. Then I built it for Carli, which meant Spike ran almost every test we could come up with for it, before he'd even let her near it. But she didn't really take to it. And that really didn't surprise me, 'cause like I said, I had you in mind as I designed it."  
  
They turned another corner and the maze opened up into a largely clear center of the room. "There," Wheeljack said, pointing at a purple and black motorcycle. He beamed. "Whattya think?"  
  
She blinked. "The bike, you mean?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Oh." She cocked her head and studied the bike, pacing a circle around it. "It's a very pretty bike. I especially like the way the purple blends into the black."  
  
Wheeljack snorted. "You've been around us this long, and that's all you can say?"  
  
She stared at him blankly for only a second before he saw the realization hit. "It's a Transformer?" She crouched next to the bike, resting her hand on it.  
  
"Not exactly." Wheeljack sat cross-legged on the floor on the other side of the bike. "It's not alive. Of course, there's no way I could do that."  
  
"I never did get Optimus to answer that," she murmured.  
  
"Answer what?"  
  
"Where baby Autobots come from."  
  
Wheeljack sputtered. He pulled himself under control and shook his head. "Oh, no. I'm definitely not taking that one. You'll have to get that answer from someone else." Although he found himself wishing he had seen Prime's expression when she dropped _that_ question on him. Then he wondered how the topic had come up. Then he decided it was safer not knowing, and very firmly set his curiosity aside. "Now, it's not alive, but it's not a typical Earth bike either. It works along the same lines as Spike's exosuit, except this was really designed to be more... well, covert. It doesn't scream Transformer technology at first glance, so it won't draw a lot of attention to you. The body's based on a Kawasaki Hayabusa, because it was the best shape for what I wanted it to do. The skin is not as tough as ours, relatively speaking, but it's pretty close. It will handle some pretty good glancing shots, but nothing point-blank. Look." A shield shot up from behind the seat and melded itself up and over in a bubble, which would enclose the rider. "Do I need to give you a helmet lecture?"  
  
Tarla shook her head, eyes wide.  
  
"Good. I've got one for you too. You'll love it. It's got a heads-up display, sensors, targeting -- everything I could fit it. But back to this." He tapped the shield. "This'll hit higher speeds than a normal bike, and it has a better sense of balance. Doesn't mean you can't take a spill on it, but if you've got that dome up, you won't be leaving pieces of yourself along the tarmac. Now, the fun part. It has two other modes. One's a basic battle suit. The other's a flight mode, and believe me, there're a few Autobots who're gonna be pretty jealous over that part. You're not going to get a high altitude like one a' the jets, but it'll do ya."  
  
"You said something about targeting," she said slowly.  
  
"Yep, and I wantcha to listen real close to me on this, kiddo. This is not a fighting toy. It's made for evade and flight. The weapon's aren't very powerful. They're based on Ratchet's laser scalpels, and they'll give a pretty good zap. So if you get snatched up by someone, I wantcha to shoot 'em in the optics and make a run for it. Understand me?"  
  
"Yes, Wheeljack," she said in a solemn voice. "It's a beautiful gift."  
  
"I want you safe," he said gently. "This'll help compensate for you being so..."  
  
"Squishable?"  
  
He shook his head. "'Fragile' was the word I was going to use."  
  
She ran her hand over the tinted dome. At her touch, it slid open. She laughed softly. "I think it recognizes me."  
  
"It should," Wheeljack said smugly. "It's programmed for you. No one's gonna hot-wire this baby. Hop on."  
  
"I've never ridden one before," she said.  
  
He handed her a helmet, painted to match. "We can fix that." Then he stopped and really looked at her. "Um... Tarla? Where's your other shoe?"  
  



	7. Default Chapter Title

The Deepest Cuts are Healed by Faith  
  
by Kamara   
stealthbunny@msn.com  
  
Hot Rod's Account  
  
I shot past Arcee before I realized she was there. I pulled a three-sixty, transformed, and jogged back to where she had wedged herself up near the ceiling, balanced on a girder, and was installing a camera. She glanced down at me, then focused on the camera again without saying a word.  
  
I leaned against the wall and gazed up at her. "Um... hi."  
  
"Hi," she answered in an even, almost toneless voice.  
  
"I... um... thought you were going to get some rest."  
  
She shrugged. "Couldn't settle down. Why? You gonna tell me again how bad I look?"  
  
"No! Aw, Arcee, I didn't mean... 'Cee, you look great. Beautiful. You always do."  
  
She looked down at me again, a spanner dangling from her fingers. I wondered if she was about to throw it at me. I usually wasn't fast enough to duck one of her throws anyway, but I figured this time, I deserved it, and braced myself.  
  
A smile began to hover over her face. Primus, she was so beautiful, her optics alight like that. Even with that grease smudge across her right cheek. In fact, the smudge made her even more beautiful. I beamed at her. "You are such a jerk," she said fondly.  
  
"I know," I admitted. "I can't help it sometimes. Need some help?"  
  
"You wouldn't fit up here." She made a few more adjustments on the camera. "'Sides, this one's almost done... there!" She squinted at it for a moment, then nodded with satisfaction. In one of her breathtaking moves, she suddenly swung off the girder and dropped lightly to the floor next to me. I wished she had been a little slower. I would have loved to have had the time to catch her. She caught me watching her. "What?" she asked defensively.  
  
"Nothing," I said softly. "I guess... I was just wishing I wasn't so much of a jerk."  
  
The smile broke through then, and she laughed under her breath. "You really are impossible, Roddi."  
  
I grinned. If she was using my nickname, it would be all right. After all, she didn't have a nickname for Springer. "Impossible, I can live with."  
  
"Sometimes, I'm not so sure _I_ can," she said, but the smile was still there. "Grab a camera and let's go."  
  
"Anything you said," I said.  
  
And I meant it.  
  
*  
  
I helped her put up about a dozen more cameras. By the last one, she was letting me swing her down from the girders myself. I couldn't tell if she was allowing it simply because she was tired, or if there was something more to it. "Thanks," she said. "I wouldn't have been able to get a couple of those up without you giving me a boost." She sat on her heels and poked through the supply case she had been using to carry the cameras in, sorting over the odds and ends of spare parts, cords, and chips. "Did we lose something?" I asked.  
  
"Hmm?" She looked at her hands, hovering over the box, as if she wasn't sure what she was doing with them. "No. I... I guess I'm not sure what I'm looking for." An expression of annoyance touched her face. "Just went off-line there for a moment. I'm tired after all, I guess."  
  
"Prime just lectured Tarla on how being tired would 'impair her judgment'."  
  
She grimaced. "Sounds like something he'd say."   
  
I crouched next to her. "It's more than just being tired, isn't it?"  
  
She studied me for a moment, then shifted to sit on the floor, her knees drawn up to her chest. "It's just kind of an overload. So many things happening at once. I'm leaving, Roddi. I got the transfer. I'll be on Omega Supreme when he and the others return to Earth. And I want to go, you know that." She chewed her lip. "I'm guess, I'm just a little scared."  
  
"You've never been scared," I teased.  
  
She shot me a scalding look. "Then you haven't been paying much attention, have you?"  
  
Whoops. _Really_ wrong thing to say. I searched in panic to find something to smooth it over, and everything I ran through a quick mental rehearsal sounded only worse. I sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm not any good at this. Maybe..." And I closed my optics, miserable. "Maybe you'd be better off talking to Springer. He's older. Might know of something to say to help."  
  
Her fist slammed into my shoulder. "Dammit, Roddi, if I wanted to talk to Springer, I'd be talking to Springer."  
  
"I just meant... I keep saying the wrong things."  
  
"Then stop talking," she said and suddenly curled up against me, hiding her face against my chest.  
  
_Someone's gonna radio me any second now. I just know it. It has to happen._ I held Arcee and kissed the top of her head. "I don't mean to say the wrong things all the time."  
  
She laughed softly, muffled against my chest. "It's because you're a jerk. You can't help it." Then she raised her head, and her fingers touched my face, then she kissed me, shy and unsure at first, then with fire that was pure Arcee.  
  
_Oh, Primus, I'm going to have to let this lady go, watch her board a shuttle and leave and maybe never see her again._  
  
_Hell._  
  
I leaned back enough to look at her face, how the light played across it. I traced her cheek with my finger. She leaned closer to kiss me again, and I stopped her, my fingers resting against her lips.  
  
"What?" she whispered.  
  
"Hot Rod's Law of Averages," I said.  
  
"_What_?"  
  
"Give it a moment," I said. Right on cue, my comm-link blipped for attention. "See?"  
  
She began to laugh. "Oh, dear. You really have the worst luck."  
  
"Welcome to my world, kiddo." I gave her another kiss that was meant to be quick, but drew out wonderfully until the com-link beeped again. I growled. "Yeah, Hot Rod, here. Whaddya want?"  
  
"Hi guys!" Bumblebee's voice came through, cheerful and happy.  
  
I wanted to kill him. "What?" I snarled.  
  
"Now, now, that's not the way to talk to a good friend, is it?"  
  
Arcee was nibbling on my fingers, and I really wanted to give into the distraction. "Bee, you have no idea what you're interrupting."  
  
"Actually, I do." Bumblebee sounded entirely too smug. "I drew the first lot to watch the camera feeds, and you'd better be glad I did. Have you forgotten you installed one a few feet from you?"  
  
I honestly didn't know Arcee could make a squawking noise like that. She was on her feet so fast that I nearly toppled over in the sudden absence of her weight against my side. "Bumblebee, you were _watching_?" she screeched.  
  
"No! That's why I called! To tell you! So I wouldn't watch!" Bumblebee panicked as Arcee went for the camera, since it was a closer target than Bee himself. She swarmed up the girder and yanked the camera out of the bracket she had so lovingly installed just a few minutes ago. As if in afterthought, she smacked the camera against the wall a couple of times, swinging it by its cords, then flung it to the floor.  
  
"Now, you need to install a new one," Bumblebee unwisely pointed out.  
  
Arcee snarled wordlessly at him and strode away. She found words again a few steps away, and by the time she turned the corner, she was swearing long and hard.  
  
"Better hide, Bee," I said maliciously. "I think she's coming for you next." I cut the link and roared laughter.  
  
A few minutes later, I calmed down and beeped Wheeljack. Bothering Wheeljack when he was in his lab was never something to do lightly. I'd rather face a squadron of 'Con jets than a Wheeljack angry at being interrupted. Still, I was on Tarla-duty, and facing an angry Prime was infinitely worse than the other two options put together. And since I was in a good mood, and still chuckling under my breath, I figured it was as good a time as any.  
  
Wheeljack answered, bright and cheerful. "Just checking in on Tarla," I said quickly, to reassure him that I had a legitimate reason for bothering him.  
  
He didn't sound bothered. "Oh, she's fine," he said. "We were just puttering around her, chatting, and suddenly I realize I'm the only one talking. I look over, and she's sound asleep."  
  
"Good. Prime was after her to get some rest."  
  
"Figured as much, when I saw her. You don't want me to wake her up, do you?"  
  
"Nope. I value my life."  
  
"Wouldn't've guessed it, by the way you carry on sometimes."  
  
I heard the grin in his voice, and couldn't let that rest. "Yeah? You sure she's just asleep and not hurt?"  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Well, your gadgets are kinda famous for blowing up..."  
  
"Watch it, youngster," he warned, but his voice was still light. "Let th'girl sleep herself out here, Hot Rod. She's about as safe here as anywhere else."  
  
Which was true, unless one of Wheeljack's inventions took on a mind of its own. Which also wouldn't be much of a surprise to anyone, once I thought about it. Still, Wheeljack was one of Prime's elites, and he never would have let Tarla near the workshop if he didn't trust Wheeljack to keep her safe. "Sounds good, Wheeljack. Let me know when she wakes up."  
  
"Will do." And he signed off, already sounding distracted as he returned to whatever it was he was working on.  
  
I looked at the remains of the camera and chuckled again, before I went off to find Arcee.  
  
CHAPTER SEVEN  
  
"What are you going to do if she comes?"  
  
"Keep her talking. I want her to think, and sometimes vocalizing is the best way. It's easier to accept what you're thinking, if you actually hear yourself say it."  
  
"What happens if it goes bad? If she pulls a weapon?"  
  
"...Well, I guess that's why you have Arcee there. Stop pacing, Optimus."  
  
"We can't afford to let her get away again. You know that, don't you?"  
  
"You've made that quite clear."  
  
"I don't think I have. I think you'd let her run, because you want so badly for her to make the right decision for herself. And you know yourself, that sometimes  
it's the wrong decision.  
  
"Dammit, Optimus, for all your words about believing in me, you rub my face in it as hard as the others do!"  
  
"...I don't want to. But I'm the --"  
  
"Leader, I know. Believe me, I'm as apt to forget it as you are. What do you want me to do, Optimus? Shoot her?  
  
"If it comes between that and risking her killing one of my warriors, yes."  
  
"What happened to protecting human life at all costs?"  
  
"In this case, she's a Decepticon first, and a human second."  
  
"Not by choice."  
  
"That won't matter to an Autobot she kills. We'll try not to kill her, Tarla."  
  
"Capture her. Then what? You can't put a human in stasis-lock."  
  
"We'll decide what to do with her when we have her. At least if she's captured, she can't do us any harm."  
  
"But it's the wrong --"  
  
"Tarla, it is not open for debate. We'll do everything we possibly can to take her without hurting her. I promise you, we'll try."  
  
"I guess that'll have to be good enough, since you aren't giving her much more of a choice then Megatron does."  
  
"...I wish you'd at least wear the exosuit."  
  
"I don't want to scare her away."  
  
"If shooting starts, I want you out of there --"  
  
"Optimus, you're fussing. You don't fuss over your warriors like this, do you?"  
  
"You aren't one of my warriors."  
  
"And don't I know it."  
  
*  
  
The compromise was that they would leave the exosuit in bike mode in the corner of the room. Wheeljack had assured them that it wouldn't show up on sensors any more than any other Earth car or motorcycle would, and this way, Tarla could get to it easily. The rest of the day was spent with Wheeljack, running practice sessions with the exosuit. And when she thought she was somewhat comfortable and was at least able to transform without falling flat on her face, Wheeljack set her out with Hot Rod for target practice.  
  
"I don't even want to be any good at this," she grumbled to Hot Rod. The small lasers were mounted over her wrists, folding in and out of a compartment in the armor. It vaguely reminded her of the way Starscream carried his lasers, which made her twitch a little inwardly. She told herself that Wheeljack just didn't have that type of sense of humor for it to have intentional, and it made sense in the way the suit was designed. In bike mode, the guns folded out above the handlebars, and it was that area that curved up around her arms when it transformed. There wasn't much transforming involved from bike to flier. It sprouted a set of wing fins, the bubble shield wrapped around her and the tires folded up flat, but she didn't move at all.  
  
She was dying to find out how it worked. She had pestered Wheeljack with questions until the inventor sighed. "Look, kid. Right now, just accept that it works. I promise I'll take it apart with you someday and show it to you bolt by bolt, but just this moment, it's more important that you lean how to use it." Then his optics took on a fond glow. "I don't think I've never said that to anyone before. Usually, they're begging me _not_ to explain."  
  
That had been what the first few months with Starscream had been like. She had taken apart so many things to try and figure out how they worked, that Starscream just grew to expect to find her sitting on the floor surrounded by parts and components. After the first few times, his irritation had gradually seeped away, and he would just sit on the floor with her and explain how each piece worked and fit in with the other pieces. She was so hungry for the knowledge that she devoured everything he taught her , and as soon as one thing was reassembled, she went on to the next.  
  
Those were her favorite memories of Starscream, looking over her shoulder as he talked her through procedures, the high-pitched scream of anger and frustration gone from his voice. There were no sides then, right or wrong. No War. Just the comfort of learning. And of not being alone.  
Wheeljack brought back those memories hard, and right behind them, the memories as Starscream lost interest. The weeks of being alone, and dodging Starscream when he was around, consumed again with battle rage and hatred, his optics blazing in a red far deeper than the other Decepticons'.  
  
_You could continue learning from Wheeljack, you know_, she told herself. _He would never be like that other Starscream._  
  
But the thought didn't bring any comfort, and so she scowled at the lasers on her wrists.  
  
Hot Rod signed patiently. "The hope is that you won't have to use them. But you hafta admit, it'd be stupid to get yourself killed just because you didn't know how to use those guns when you needed to."  
  
She really couldn't argue with that, but she tried to anyway. "I got by four years without having to shoot anyone."  
  
"The way I heard it, you got your arm just about crushed, too." He studied her for a moment. "And maybe, if you had something to shoot with back then, you wouldn't have felt that you had to go with Starscream."  
  
And because Starscream had been so recently in her thoughts, she flared, her chin jerking up. "I did _not_ feel like I _had_ to --"  
  
"Or maybe," he interrupted gently, "you're just afraid who you might have to point those lasers at."  
  
She choked off her anger so sharply that she nearly choked on the sudden intake of breath as well. It would have been easier, she thought to herself, avoiding his gaze, if he had sneered it. She could have kept the anger then. But instead, he had been so gentle about it, so like a big brother, so caring, that grief poured in where the anger had been.  
  
In spite of everything, they still cared about her. And it had been so long since she had been cared for, that it hurt more than the sneers and hostility did.  
  
And in the absence of the anger, she knew Hot Rod was right.  
  
Another marvel of the exosuit -- tears didn't fog the face plate of the helmet. And although Hot Rod's receptors had to have picked up the sobs she tried to hid, he didn't say anything. But he rested his hand carefully on her shoulder, and it was the first gesture she drew comfort from in years.  
  
"All right," he said in that same gentle voice, "when you bring up your arm with the lasers out, it'll automatically activate the targeting controls in your helmet. See the cross-hairs in your heads-up display..."  
  
*  
  
Arcee met them coming back a few hours later. "Good timing," she said. "They're just about ready in there." She handed Tarla her sneaker. "Here you go."  
  
Tarla nudged the kickstand down and balanced enough to pull on the sneaker. "How'd you get it from Bumblebee?"  
  
She shrugged and her optics glinted. "Oh, Bee and I just had a little talk."  
  
Hot Rod made a choking sound.  
  
Arcee grinned.  
  



	8. Default Chapter Title

THE DEEPEST CUTS ARE HEALED BY FAITH  
  
by Kamara Lufkin  
stealthbunny@msn.com  
  
  
Hot Rod's Account  
  
It didn't work.  
  
Prime and his band of merry warriors went on their Sunday drive. At least, that was how Tarla phrased it. Arcee stuck in the room with Tarla, Springer and I were stationed in strategic areas nearby, and Bumblebee watched the live camera feeds, relieved to be as far from Arcee as possible within Prime's orders.  
  
And there we sat.  
  
Prime certainly must have had a better time than we did, because things couldn't have gotten more boring at our end.  
  
Tarla fell asleep. I guess I really couldn't blame her, after the workout Wheeljack and I had put her through. She slept until Prime and the others got back, quite some time later. He went in to speak to her, and she woke with a start. It must be just about impossible for her to sleep with us stomping around her, and I found myself feeling sorry for her again.  
  
I was watching the cameras with Bumblebee. Prime said something to Arcee, and she left, stretching gratefully.  
  
Bumblebee shut that camera off with an abrupt snap. "Give them some time alone."  
  
I agreed, but I felt I had to say, "We're supposed to be keeping an eye on her."  
  
Bee's mouth quirked. "She's with Prime. You think she's gonna get any safer than that?" He brooded at the blank screen, his arms folded across his chest. "It really rots, you know," he muttered. He caught my glance and nodded at the screen. "Those two. They're putting themselves through a lot more than they need to be doing." He shrugged. "And they won't listen to anyone else, including each other."  
  
I kicked aimlessly at the leg of his chair. "Think they'll ever work it out?"  
  
"Dunno. That girl's so gun-shy, you couldn't even say the word 'Decepticon' around her the first two days she was back, without her going white." He snorted. "And sometimes, Prime isn't much better."  
  
*  
  
I found Arcee and Tarla later. Arcee looked tired, but her optics warmed when she saw me. I never knew how wonderful such an expression could be. I crouched down in front of her and touched her face. She rubbed her cheek against my hand. "Go get some sleep," I said. "I'll take over."  
  
"You didn't get much sleep either last night, did you?" she asked.  
  
I shrugged. "I'm good for a while yet."  
  
The argument played across her face for a moment. I caught her hand in mine, played with her fingers for a moment, then gave her my best but-I'm-cute look.  
  
She burst out laughing. "All right, I'm going." She gave me a gentle shove, and I allowed it to topple me over backwards. She laughed again and walked away, shaking her head.  
  
I watched her go, then realized I had a goofy grin on my face. I tried to stop it and couldn't seem to. Didn't seem to want to, either.  
  
Tarla had a panel open on the side of her bike and was studying the patterns of flashing lights. Her heart really didn't seem to be in it, though. I sat on the floor next to her.  
  
"Sorry about that," she said, not looking up.  
  
"'Bout what?"  
  
She gestured in the direction Arcee had gone. "Being so much trouble."  
  
"Aw, you're no trouble."  
  
She snorted. "I'm not much help, either."  
  
"I don't see any 'Bots getting grenades tossed in their faces since you got here," I pointed out.  
  
She gave one of her abbreviated shrugs again. "I guess we couldn't really expect Megatron to fall for bait again. We've done it a few too many times. I just thought maybe Rust would fall for it."  
  
I didn't want to tell her that there might be dozens of reasons why the girl didn't show. We couldn't even be sure she was alive, knowing the unpredictability of Decepticons. Perhaps, now that we had figured out, they had decided she was no longer useful.  
  
But Tarla already had a good case of the mopes going. I was running on a bet that she felt some responsibility toward Rust. I could have been wrong. But I had once heard Ultra Magnus say something very similar about Optimus Prime. About how he would shoulder responsibility where he had no reason to feel responsible. And then he would move planets, to carry out that responsibility.  
  
But Optimus Prime was a warrior, Leader of the Autobots. And Tarla was... tiny.  
  
I, however, knew a great deal about blowing off responsibility. And I thought Tarla could use a dose or two of that. I nudged her. "C'mon."  
  
She looked at me through her shaggy hair, her eyes snapping crossly. "What?"  
  
I glanced around, then leaned closer to her. "Let's blow this junk yard for a bit. You look like your head's full of cobwebs, and nothing blows cobwebs away like some speed. Let's give those wheels of yours a real test drive."  
  
Her eyes lost some of the anger and interest began to creep into them. "I don't have a lot of practice."  
  
Ha! I grabbed onto that interest before the mopes could sneak in the backdoor and drag it away again. "Best way to practice is to just do." Then I tried the I'm-cute expression on her, too. "Aw, c'mon... it'll be fun!" She didn't burst into laughter like Arcee had, but I could tell it was pretty close to the surface. "Look, that bike almost drives itself. Pop the bubble up around you, and you'll be fine, even if you do take a spill. Which you won't, 'cause I'll be there to catch you, and there's no way you can out-run me."  
  
"Boastful, aren't you?" But there was a smile on her face now. She snapped the panel closed and reached for her helmet.  
  
I shrugged. "Hey, there's a reason why I'm called Hot Rod."  
  
*  
  
There is nothing, _nothing_, like a good, fast drive. Absolutely nothing. I tried to explain it to Kup once, when he was lecturing me. I was getting a dent smoothed out -- I had skidded out and ran into a corner of a building. It hadn't been bad, but it gave Kup an excuse. Sometimes, I really think Kup has just forgotten whet it's like to be young, to feel that rush of power in speed, the thrill of wondering if I really was going too fast, and the high in coming out of that curve still in control. But Springer had been in the same room, doing some sort of repairs on his blades, and he glanced at me once with a glint in his optics that told me he knew exactly what I was talking about.  
  
Like I said before, Springer really is a good guy.  
  
And a while later, when we pulled over for a rest, the same spark was in Tarla's eyes and burning hard.  
  
Another addict was born.  
  
She ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing it out again, and hung the helmet from one of the handlebars.  
"Fun?" I asked casually.  
  
"It was all right." Then her eyes flashed. "God, Hot Rod, that was great!"  
  
"Yeah," I said smugly. "It is, isn't it?" Then, because I wasn't _entirely_ irresponsible, I threw in, "Just remember, don't go trying that on any other bike or normal car, right? You aren't going to find anything else built like that."  
  
"A Wheeljack special," she said with a fond smile, running her hand over the gas tank. "Where are we anyway?"  
  
"Aw," I shrugged. "This is just where I always end up, when I just need to blow off some tension. I like high points, and this is the highest around. Come here."  
  
She swung off the bike and followed me to the overlook. I helped her up on the railing. It was a tremendous altitude, even by my standards. I hadn't thought what it must seem like to a human. "Um... do heights bother you?"  
  
"Not really, "she said uncertainly, "But I don't think I want to get much closer either." She gazed out over the view, of streets, towers, and buildings, all reflecting light in prizming streams against the sky in different shades of night. "It's beautiful."  
  
"Probably looks really different, huh?"  
  
She nodded, settling down on the rail, her legs dangling over the edge. "Really different. We have a sun, for one thing. But it's just hard to get used to so much metal."  
  
"It's ok." I grinned. "I'd probably think the same way looking off some mountain on Earth. Not--" I added quickly, "that your world isn't beautiful. It's just..."  
  
"Different," she said.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
There was a streak of light along the horizon, and I pointed it out to her. "Look. There's a shuttle. Sometimes, when the traffic's real bad, the whole sky lights up like that. And once, I was up here when there was a battle going on all the way over there. The light show was incredible."  
  
She murmured softly, but I couldn't make out the words. So we sat in silence for a while, watching the lights flare in the city below.  
  
"You coming back with us?" she suddenly asked.  
  
"To Earth?"  
  
She nodded. "Yeah. You know, see those mountains."  
  
I glanced at her, but her gaze was still out over the city. "I hadn't thought..." I trailed off, not sure what to say, or even how to begin to say it.  
  
"You should," she said softly. "Think about it. Arcee's going."  
  
I closed my optics. "Yeah. I know."  
  
She was quiet for another long moment. "Mistakes haunt you. Forever, it seems like," she finally said. Then in a sudden, brisk move, she began to climb down from the railing. "We'd better head back," she said in a completely different tone.  
  
"Yeah. Hey, you'll love the ride down. It's even faster." I helped her the rest of the way off the guard rail, then turned to go back to the road, and walked straight into Ramjet's fist.  
  
CHAPTER EIGHT  
  
"Come on," Ramjet urged, holding his hand out to Tarla. "Let's get you out of here."  
  
Tarla stared at him over Hot Rod's body. Ramjet was firmly between her and the bike, but he hadn't even given it a glance. "Come on," he said again, impatiently this time. "Stupid human. Don't you know when you're being rescued? Shoulda let the Autobot drop you off the cliff after all. But with my luck, Megatron'd blame me for letting you get killed."  
  
"Megatron?" she said blankly. "Why would _he_ care --"  
  
Then it hit her. Ramjet thought she was Rust.  
  
"He probably wouldn't care much," Ramjet said. "But I'm not taking the chance that he might." He sneered at Hot Rod. "But I'd better take care of this, first." He kicked Hot Rod's shoulder.  
  
"No!" Tarla blurted without thinking, then added, "There's no time. He radioed Prime and Ultra Magnus. They'll be here any second."  
  
Ramjet snarled, but stepped away and transformed into jet mode. He popped the canopy over his cockpit. "Get in, then."  
  
She'd have to run in front of his guns to get to the bike. And even if she could get to it and away before Ramjet could react, it would mean leaving Hot Rod behind.  
  
She couldn't think of anything else to do. She climbed up into the cockpit and the canopy shut around her. She pressed her face against the surface, trying to get another look at Hot Rod, but the angle was wrong, and Ramjet took off too quickly.  
  
"You're lucky I even saw you," he said. "I knew sooner or later you'd get caught. But I have to admit, you've done pretty good for a squishy. We might get a few more assignments out of you yet."  
  
Tarla sat back in the seat and closed her eyes. "Yeah," she said. "I'm real lucky."  
  
*  
  
An hour later, Ramjet suddenly dropped altitude and cruised in to land. Tarla climbed out when he ordered her to. She had hoped she might be able to slip away, but now as she looked around helplessly, she realized that might be worse than trying to keep up the act. She had no idea where she was, except that it was in the heart of Decepticon turf. She followed Ramjet through a maze of corridors, going through a mental list. Ravage would know her on sight, no mistake there. So would Starscream, obviously. Thundercracker might, too. And Frenzy.  
  
She tried not to think about Frenzy. The other Decepticons might kill her just out of principle. Frenzy's hatred was personal. She ran to keep up with Ramjet, because being in his shadow was infinitely better than wandering around lost, with the fear of running into Frenzy at every corner.  
  
_Oh, yeah. He'd recognize me. The only one worse than Frenzy would be running into -- _  
  
Her unwitting tour guide walked into a room that was extremely similar to the command room in the Decepticon underwater headquarters on Earth. She had gone several yards into the room before that sank in, and on the heels of that, she recognized the voice. She spun to run out again before she was noticed, but Ramjet caught the back of her coat in his fingers. "No, you don't," he said with amusement. "You can explain to Megatron yourself how you got captured."  
  
"What are you babbling about, Ramjet?" and Tarla nearly lost the last bit of her control over her panic at Megatron's voice. _I was wrong. Being lost is a whole lot more appealing._  
  
"I had to rescue your squishy from the Autobots," Ramjet said, his voice filled with pride.  
  
"Is she damaged?" Megatron didn't sound concerned, and Tarla began to hope that maybe she could slink away without him really noticing her.  
  
"Doesn't seem to be," Ramjet said.  
There was a moment of silence, then footsteps came closer, and Megatron loomed over the row of consoles in front of them. "What was she doing out, anyway? She wasn't supposed to --" His gaze fell on Tarla, still held in Ramjet's fingers. For a moment, his expression didn't change, and Tarla thought maybe...  
  
Then Megatron's optics closed in a give-me-strength expression. "Ramjet, you idiot," he snarled. "You've got the wrong one."  
  
Ramjet's expression would have been priceless in another setting. He looked down at her in surprise. "What wrong one?" His own optics widened. "Oh, is this one Starscream's?"  
  
"Put her down." Megatron said. Ramjet did, and Megatron effortlessly picked the jet up and pitched him against the wall. "I ought to have you recycled for spare parts!" He swung around and pointed at Tarla. "I suggest you make it easy on yourself. Don't run."  
  
She looked at the fusion canon mounted on his arm. "Wouldn't think of it," she said faintly.  
  
He studied her for a moment, then nodded and motioned for her to follow him deeper into the room. He sat in a chair and simply watched her.  
  
Optimus Prime could study someone, but not make them feel any less for it.  
  
Megatron made her feel like an insect.  
  
"Did you come with Starscream?" he asked. "And don't bother lying, because I'll ask Starscream, too. And it won't make a difference if he tries to protect you, because although he would like to think otherwise, I can tell when Starscream lies."  
  
"I didn't come with Starscream," she said in a low voice.  
  
"Which means you came with the Autobots." A smile hovered across his face. "Which explains why Prime was suddenly so visible earlier today, doesn't it? They figured out about Rust and thought you might be useful in some way. Perhaps to convince her she's on the wrong side?"  
  
His ability to second-guess people was so similar to Prime's that she was suddenly more terrified of Megatron than she had ever been. Her wrist suddenly twitched in a sympathetic ache.  
  
His smile grew. "This could be interesting."  
  
A Decepticon moved out of the depths of the room. From the vague memories she had of Decepticon personnel, Tarla recognized Shockwave. "Megatron, she's just a human."  
  
The smile turned briefly into a sneer. "Shockwave, this one little human has caused me no small amount of trouble. And the only reason I've let her live this long is because she has given Optimus even more grief than she has given me. Ramjet, don't go anywhere. I'm not finished with you yet."  
  
Ramjet stopped in his attempt to sneak out the door. "Yes, Megatron," he squeaked.  
  
"I'm surrounded by idiots," Megatron said pleasantly to Tarla. "They never cease to amaze me. However, they are excellent fighters, even if most of them lack brains. But it doesn't take brains to follow orders. Perhaps, it is a good thing that Frenzy is on Earth. I think I want to keep you around for a while. Optimus was willing to give himself up for you once. Perhaps he would consider it again.  
  
"That was a long time ago," Tarla said.  
  
Megatron shrugged. "I admit, I was curious about that. I thought about trying again, during that year you were Starscream's house pet. But I had other plans then. Shockwave, find Starscream for me. Ramjet, you take our guest and keep watch over her until Starscream relieves you of that duty. Do not let her near our other human, since you aren't observant enough to tell them apart. Do you think you can handle that, or would that require you to actually think?"  
  
"No, Mega -- I mean..." Ramjet squirmed. "I can handle it."  
  
Megatron smiled. "I should hope so." He looked down at Tarla. "Yes, this should definitely be interesting. Get out of here, both of you."  
  
Tarla and Ramjet ran out with equal haste. Two corridors later, Ramjet let out a sigh of relief. "Ya couldn't have just told me you were Screamer's Pet?"  
  
"I was with an Autobot. I thought you'd kill me."  
  
"I probably would have. But it would have been quicker than whatever Megatron's gonna cook up for you."  
  
She was sure he was right.  
  
Another corridor later, Ramjet said, "Look, let's not tell Megatron that I let that Autobot live, ok?"  
  
"You could let me go and we'll call it even," she suggested without much hope.  
  
"He'd _slag_ me for that."  
  
She shrugged. "Can't blame me for trying, can you?"  
  
He looked down at her. "No. Guess I can't. But you also know why I can't just let you go. Maybe I could have, if I had known. Worked something out with Screamer. But I can't, now that Megatron knows."  
  
"You also said you might have killed me, if you had known."  
  
"I might have," he agreed pleasantly.  
  
_Oh, I am in _such_ trouble._  
  
They ended up in a lab that had Starscream's feel to it, although Tarla couldn't point to anything and say that was why. Ramjet settled in a chair and punched up some sort of video on a monitor.  
Tarla couldn't even sit still. She wandered around the lab, poking at things she could barely identify, scanning through digital notation and files, and finally settled on a metal box about two feet square.  
  
"Am I supposed to let you do that?"  
  
She shook the box. "Let's put it this way. If Starscream has anything vitally important about battle plans, would he just leave them lying around?" She held out the box. "What's this?"  
  
Ramjet looked at it. "Um... it's... something scientific."  
"What's it do?"  
  
"...Something scientific?"  
  
"Oh." She sat down on the floor, pulled out her scout knife and started to take it apart.  
  
She had most of the pieces spread out around her when Starscream came in. "Megatron wants to see you," he said to Ramjet.  
  
"You could always tell him you didn't see me," Ramjet said hopefully.  
  
"I could," Starscream said smoothly. "But I won't. And I'd be doing you a favor. If I said I couldn't find you, it would make it look like you weren't doing your job." He nodded meaningfully at Tarla.  
  
Ramjet gave him a look of pure misery and slunk out of the lab.  
  
"Imbecile," Starscream snorted.   
  
"Megatron doesn't want to see him, does he?" Tarla asked, not looking up from trying to find a piece back in.  
  
"No. But it'll do him good to think he does." Starscream looked at what she was doing. "It goes over on the other side."  
  
"Oh. So it does." She fastened it in and reached for another piece.  
  
Starscream pulled the chair over that Ramjet had vacated and sat down. When Tarla couldn't stand it any more, she glanced up at him, trying to hide the look under her shaggy hair. He was leaning against his desk, resting his head on his fist, with the expression very much like someone who was developing a headache.  
  
She rather understood the feeling.  
  
"When I told you that you were safer with the Autobots, I was not hinting that you should vacation on Cybertron with them." He lifted his head to stare at her in complete amazement. "Under Megatron's nose! What were you thinking of?"  
  
"It wasn't really my idea," Tarla said.  
  
Starscream snorted in disbelief. "Right. Prime held a gun to you and forced you."  
  
"Not quite like that. He doesn't have to use a gun." Starscream continued to stare at her. She pointed at him with the piece of... whatever it was she was holding. "Really, he doesn't. But he can talk until your head spins, and somehow, the way he puts it makes so much sense, and feels so right, that you'd walk through fire for him, and wonder why you ever thought you wouldn't."  
  
"_I_ wouldn't."  
  
"And that's why you wear that symbol," she said, pointing at the Decepticon insignia. She looked at the piece of metal in her hand, then at the box in front of her.  
  
"Right side corner," Starscream said.  
  
She fitted the piece in. "What is this, anyway?"  
  
"An energon chip dispenser."  
  
"A _what_?"  
  
He shrugged, with a little embarrassed smile. "Thundercracker kept stealing my supply of them. So I built that to hide them in."  
  
She grinned. "It's a giant Pez dispenser!"  
  
To her surprise, he nodded. "Rumble collects the things. I don't know why, but he does. I got the idea from that. And Thundercracker's never found my energon chip supply again. I ran out a while ago, though. Just never got around to refilling it."  
  
Now that she knew what it was, the pieces made a little more sense, and she was able to put in several more without hints.  
  
"Megatron has that ability," Starscream said suddenly. She had almost forgotten why they had been talking about and stared at him blankly, trying to retrace their tangents. "Speeches," Starscream reminded, and she nodded as she caught up with his train of thought, then shot him a skeptical look. "He can," Starscream insisted. "It's why most of us joined him. He can give a speech with such... conviction and power that we'd do almost anything to feel some of that power ourselves."  
  
It wasn't the same thing she had been trying to convey, but she knew better than to tempt his temper by correcting him. She held up another piece. "Where's this one go?" she asked, although she was fairly sure she knew.  
  
He accepted the change of subject and pointed. She held the piece in place and used the screwdriver in her knife to bolt it in. "So now what?" She was careful not to look at him.  
  
"I don't know," he said. "This caught me off-guard. I thought I finally had you more or less out of danger a few years ago."  
  
"Right. I was really safe in your hide-away, wasn't I?" she sneered.  
  
"I meant after --" He caught himself.  
  
"After what?" Then, when he didn't answer, she pushed the dispenser away and really looked at him. "After what, Starscream?" she asked softly.  
  
He looked like his headache had just doubled. "Megatron always knew I had you around," he finally said. "And for a while, I couldn't figure out why he allowed it. His respect took a bit of pounding because of you. I expected him to light into Cracker and me, but he never did, and he didn't demand that I hand you over, either. But then, he started dropping comments about how clever Prime had been to send in a human to infiltrate, and how efficient that would be on Cybertron, where sensors weren't set up for humans."  
  
"Rust," Tarla said.  
  
Starscream shook his head. "No, Rust came after you left. Megatron wanted to use you. And I knew you better. You wouldn't have done it, and Megatron would have killed you. He tolerated you around, because he thought you might prove useful. So I had to get you out of his reach."  
  
"Why didn't you just tell me all this?"  
  
He gave her a skeptical look. "If I just told you to leave, would you have?"  
  
She thought for a moment. "Maybe," she hedged.  
  
"And if I really believed that, I would have."  
  
"So instead," she said slowly, "you just... ignored me until I left on my own."  
  
He spread empty hands in front of him. "It was the only thing I could think of doing."  
  
"And it worked."  
  
"And it worked." He let out a short laugh. "Until that idiot Ramjet brought you in here, all shined-up proud because he thought he had saved you from the Autobots and was going to get a pat on the head from Megatron. Does the universe do this to me deliberately as some kind of cosmic joke?" He was up and pacing now. "And now, I have to figure out a way to get you out of here, that won't have Megatron flying down my throat with both fists." He stopped pacing, fists balled on his hips. "Why didn't you just run from Ramjet? He's not very fast on the uptake. You probably could have hidden someplace before he gathered enough wits to react."  
  
"It would have meant leaving Hot Rod behind," she said apologetically.  
  
"An Autobot." It wasn't a question.  
  
She nodded.  
  
"So you decide to put my life at risk instead. No, damn it, you've got that piece in backwards. Didn't you listen to anything I tried to teach you?"  
  
She reversed the piece and found that it did indeed fit better that way.  
  
"So I send you on your way, out of the face of immediate danger, and you come back again. What, don't you have any human friends to play with?"  
  
She lost her temper and flung the next piece at him. It pinged off his armor, harmlessly and very unsatisfactorily. "No, I _don't_. I can't trust anyone. I can't even talk to anyone, without being afraid I let something slip that'd lead either a Transformer to my door, or some anti-Transformer human looking to take their anger out on me. I had to give everything up, my music, my studies, my identity, and dammit, I'm _still_ right back here again. And you have no idea what that's like."  
  
"I gave up science to become a warrior," he said tightly.  
  
She waved her arm at the lab. "Yes, it really looks like it, doesn't it?"  
  
Thundercracker chose that moment to walk in. "Aw, just step on her, Screamer. That'll show her who's boss," he said playfully.  
  
"Get out!" they both bellowed in unison.  
  
Thundercracker looked from Starscream's blazing red optics down to Tarla's flashing blue eyes, and suddenly decided that there had to be someplace safer to be at the moment, and that it might be a good idea to go find it.  
  
Tarla's anger evaporated the instant Thundercracker vanished into the corridor. "Great," she muttered. "I manage to alienate one of the few who might actually be on my side."  
  
"There is no 'your side'," Starscream said, but it was in a gentle tone. "There is only the Decepticon side. Get used to it."  
  
"I thought I was."  
  
"Apparently not." He sat down again. "Are you hungry? We have some supplies here for Rust."  
  
By all rights, she should have been starving, since it had easily been hours since the last time she ate, and that had only been another granola bar. She had no clue what time it was either. But her stomach churned at the thought of food. She shook her head.  
  
"Eat anyway." It was barely on the gentle side of an order. "It's quiet now, but I don't know how long that will last. You may not get another chance to eat for a while, and if we have to move you quickly, I'd like you to be alert, and not off-line from hunger."  
  
Rust herself brought the food, which could have been freeze-dried cardboard for all the taste Tarla got from it. "Megatron told Ramjet to keep us apart," she felt she should say, nodding at Rust.  
  
The other girl shrugged. "Ramjet isn't here. And I had no such orders."  
  
"Besides, I can tell you apart," Starscream said.  
  
Tarla studied Rust while chewing on the freeze-dried cardboard. She as different from the scared girl she had startled a few days ago. She was no longer moving with secrecy, and instead stalked with the purpose of belonging, and her voice rang with arrogance when she spoke of orders from Megatron.  
  
This was not a scared human. This was a Decepticon.  
  
_Big difference, on your own turf, huh?_  
  
Rust looked up at Starscream, her arms folded across her chest and her eyes narrowed. "You want to get her out, right?"  
  
Starscream's expression went guarded, as it always did when a conversation was about to go onto dangerous grounds. "That would be going against Megatron's wishes," he said in his best I'm-a-good-little-Decepticon voice.  
  
"And you'd never do that," she said in the same earnest way, her eyes wide and innocent. "Drop the act, Screamer."  
  
"Call me that again, and I'll step on you."  
  
"That would really please Megatron, wouldn't it?"  
  
"Get out."  
  
"No," she said, calm in Starscream's anger. "I'm offering to help."  
  
"Why? So you can go with her?"  
  
"Hardly," she sneered. "I'm staying put.  
  
Tarla found her voice. "Wait a minute. I'm taking you with me."  
  
"No, you aren't."  
  
"Damn straight, you aren't," Starscream snorted. "Smuggling one of you out is going to be hard enough."  
  
"So you _are_ getting her out," Rust pounced.  
  
Starscream snarled.  
  
"You walked right into that one," Tarla couldn't help saying.  
  
"You keep quiet," Starscream snapped. "If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be in this mess."  
  
"I thought we were blaming it on Ramjet."  
  
His optics lit at the suggestion. "Good idea. Never liked him anyway."  
  
"You don't like anyone," Rust said.  
  
"You're pushing it," he warned. "Now are you going to tell us how you think you can help, or do I tell Megatron of your betrayal?"  
  
"He wouldn't believe you," she said, but the arrogance had vanished from her posture.  
  
"Perhaps," he agreed. "But you don't know that for certain, do you?"  
  
They stared at each other for a moment, Starscream with a pleased smirk. "Just so we know where we stand," he said.  
  
She nodded, the arrogance replaced with a sullen glower.  
  
"The easiest way would be to do a switch," he continued. "It worked with Ramjet. Let's use that against the others."  
  
"Which would be fine, except she's coming with me," Tarla said.  
Rust whirled on her. "I am not. You're getting out if I have to knock you out and drop you somewhere for the Autobots to find, but you are not staying here, and I'm not going with you."  
  
"Not everyone thinks the Deception way is something to escape from," Starscream said quietly.  
  
"And you aren't one to talk," Rust said to Tarla. "You can't even pick a side to be loyal to."  
  
"What happened to you?" Tarla asked. "You weren't like this when I met you."  
  
"Megatron said it would work." The arrogance was firmly in place again. "If I couldn't get away, play confused and abused. The Autobots would feel sorry for me and take me in. Sooner or later, I'd get a chance to get away." She leaned closer to Tarla. "Listen to me. Megatron's going to take over Earth. It's only a matter of time. The only way the Autobots can stop it is to kill every single Decepticon, and the 'Bots aren't ruthless enough. It's not in their programming. And since I'm the only human in the Decepticon forces, I'll have a lot to gain in the ruling of Earth. Your Autobots can't give me that. And I don't want any other humans around. I can't kill you myself without it falling under Megatron's attention. So I'll help Starscream get you back where you belong."  
  
"I wouldn't want to see Earth under Megatron's rule," Tarla said slowly.  
  
Rust's mouth quirked. "Then you really are an Autobot," she said.  
Tarla looked at Starscream, wanting some kind of reassurance. But he had an echo of Rust's smile, and she realized he agreed with Rust and was enjoying it.  
  
"You're just too much of a coward to admit it," Rust added.  
  
Tarla was still watching Starscream and saw his easy smile falter. "Is that what you think, too?" she asked.  
  
"Does my opinion matter?"  
  
"It used to."  
  
His smile faded entirely. "You aren't a coward," he finally said. "But you don't belong with us, and I don't understand why you won't side with the Autobots."  
  
"I'd rather not side with anyone." She rubbed her forehead. She had caught Starscream's headache, or whatever the Transformer equivalent of it was. "Besides," she added softly, " they trust me little more than the Decepticons do."  
  
"You aren't a Decepticon, and you aren't staying here," Rust snapped. Starscream's optics flashed angrily, and he started to say something when he got the slightly blank expression that meant someone had blipped him on his inter-personal comm. He shook his head. "Megatron wants to see me for a few minutes."   
  
"You're not just going to leave her alone here, are you?" Rust demanded as he strode to the door.  
Starscream paused. "Are you not capable of watching her? After all," and he smiled silkily, "she's only a human. Tarla, please don't take anything else apart while I'm gone."  
  
Rust snarled something under her breath, then glared at Tarla. "Just don't say anything. I've heard enough from you today."  
  
"I don't have anything more to say," Tarla said with a sad smile. She gathered the pieces of the energon-Pez dispenser and left them in a neat pile. Then, because Rust seemed to be too agitated to sit still, Tarla decided to be as obvious as possible at being the opposite. It turned out to be pretty easy to do. Without Starscream there for whatever moral support he was willing to provide, she was suddenly exhausted. There was a breeze coming through a large ventilation duct in the ceiling above her and she tilted her head back against the wall, her eyes closed, at the first hint of fresh air she had felt in hours.  
  
She almost fell asleep.  
  
When she first felt something tickling her face, she thought she was in that stage where there wasn't much of a difference between being awake and being asleep. Then she surged awake with the sudden panic of spiders on her face, or whatever the Cybertronian equivalent of spiders were, and a set of optics gleamed out of the vent duct at her.  
  
She caught herself before her scream of creepy-crawly panic broke out. The optics were blue, not Decepticon red, and at that exact second, she couldn't remember a more beautiful color. Then there was a flash of a smile with the optics, and the duct began to lift away. Another shower of dust rained down with a soft patter.  
  
Rust, still pacing and fidgeting, was so conditioned to the louder nose of Transformers, that she never heard the soft sounds of Arcee removing the covering to the duct and setting it aside. She dropped to the ground as silently as a few tons of metal possibility could, which was actually pretty damn silent. Tarla was pretty certain that Rust spun around because she caught sight of the movement, not because she heard the sound.  
  
Arcee hadn't noticed her. "Come on."  
  
"Wait!" Tarla turned to Rust, holding out her hand. "Come with us."  
  
"I'm not coming," she snarled. "You go. I'll even give you a head start before I hit the alarms. But I'm not coming."  
  
Arcee's caring instinct kicked in, and she quickly tucked her gun away. "None of us would hurt you," she coaxed. "We just want to help."  
  
"You're wasting your head start," Rust warned.  
  
Tarla's ears were not as conditioned as the others'; she heard the steps in the corridor. "You were someone else, before you were an annoyance called Rust," she said quickly. "And I'm betting that person wasn't a Decepticon."  
  
"But I am now." She looked at Arcee. "Go on. Take her."  
  
Arcee hesitated, her optics darting from one human to the other.  
  
"Arcee..." Bumblebee hissed from the air vent.  
  
Starscream stalked into the lab, followed by Megatron. He stopped short, and Megatron stumbled into him. "Starscream, you idiot..."  
  
Rust hadn't noticed. "Get her out of here," she shouted in fury at the hesitating Autobots. Then her mind registered Megatron's voice and her face went pale with fear, as she realized he had heard her last words.  
  
"Traitor!" Megatron roared, bringing his cannon up. He had to shove Starscream out of the doorway to have enough room to aim, and Tarla knew it wasn't her imagination that Starscream was suddenly more clumsy than she had ever seen him.  
  
She knew she couldn't reach Rust in time.  
  
She darted forward anyway.  
  
But Arcee's hands closed around her waist, swinging her up onto the femme's shoulder. Instinct took over, and Tarla clung to Arcee as she leapt for the air duct. Bumblebee caught Arcee's wrists in the seconds it took for Megatron to push Starscream aside and shoot. The ray evaporated Rust. Tarla pressed her face against Arcee's neck, closing her eyes against the bolt of light, still seeing in the after-image of the girl's body disintegrating in the eye-scorching flare. Bumblebee pulled Arcee into the duct. The blast just missed her feet as she swung them up out of the way and took out the wall beyond them.  
  
"Move it!" Arcee ordered. Tarla dropped off her shoulder and ran. They all heard Megatron bellowing and the squeal of metal as he tried to tear his way into the duct.   
  
"He'll never fit," Bumblebee said.  
  
"That may not stop him." Tarla flinched at the sounds behind them.  
  
"Don't shoot!" They heard Starscream shout and they dove around a bend in the duct in case Megatron didn't listen. "Shockwave has schematics. We can figure out where they'll come out and cut them off."  
  
Megatron snarled, and then there was silence behind them.  
  
"Keep moving," Arcee said, pushing Bumblebee ahead of her. The duct was more than big enough for Tarla to stand in, but Bumblebee and Arcee had to crawl. Bumblebee grimaced. "Never thought I'd wish to be any smaller," he said. "I could almost transform in here."  
  
"How'd you know where I was?" Tarla asked.  
  
Bumblebee grinned. "Prime had us put a homing beacon in your sneaker, just in case."  
  
"You guys come in here on your own?"  
  
"No," Arcee said. "Hot Rod's out on the other end. He didn't fit." She snorted. "Told him he wouldn't."  
  
"He's all right, then?" Tarla let out a breath of relief. "I couldn't tell how badly he was hurt."  
  
"Aw, it'd take more than a knock on his steel head to hurt him," Bumblebee said.  
  
"Not that there's much in there to hurt," Arcee murmured, but her optics had a fond glow to them.  
  
The duct ended jutting out over what had once been some type of park, but was now a ruined crater. The duct itself had been ripped open by whatever caused the crater, the steel ends jagged and rusted by time. Across the crater, the duct started again for several feet before disappearing into the ground again. Tarla realized that the whole piping system had once been underground, but had been exposed in the blast and never repaired.  
  
Hot Rod was waiting impatiently. "Nice job, people," he said, letting Tarla climb into his hand and setting her to the ground carefully. Then he swung Arcee down with ease, hands set familiarly around her waist.  
  
"Gonna help me, too?" Bumblebee asked, sitting on the edge of the duct, legs dangling.  
  
"You're on your own," Hot Rod shot back.  
  
Bumblebee shrugged and jumped down. "They were running for schematics when we left. They won't be far behind us.  
  
"Weren't you supposed to do this without being noticed, Bee?" Hot Rod winked an optic at Tarla. "You ok, kid?" He asked in a gentler voice.  
  
She nodded, trying to catch her breath. She had had to run pretty hard to keep up with the others, even with them going on hands and knees.   
  
He handed her helmet to her. "We brought your exosuit. Didn't know how rough a ride out it's going to be. " A sudden burst of fire and lasers streaked the sky a few miles away, and he grinned. "Right on time."  
  
"Optimus and the others?" Tarla guessed.  
  
"Yeah. We figured we might need a distraction, if these two didn't do their job right."  
  
Arcee smacked the back of his head.  
  
"Um, guys...?" Bumblebee called. "I hate to interrupt your romantic little reunion, but those jets up there just might have a different idea."  
  
Tarla didn't even get a chance to look. Hot Rod caught her around her waist, and she had enough time to think that she was really tired of being lugged around before he leapt to one side, and the ground between them and Bumblebee and Arcee erupted with laser fire, sending metal dust and slivers flying. Hot Rod's hand curved around her, shielding her from the metallic spray. He grabbed her exosuit in his other hand and ran with her, dodging lasers as the jet formation peeled into two groups. Hot Rod pelted through the crater and dodged into the dubious shelter of the ruins of a small building. He put the exosuit down. "Get into that, would you?"  
  
She shoved the helmet on. "Where are the others?"  
  
He shook his head. "We got separated by the laser fire."  
  
"Let's go back."  
  
His optics blazed with wild fire for a moment, then went into a forced calm. "No. I have to get you back safely."  
  
"No, we have to find them," she insisted. She transformed the suit into the body armor and got all of two steps out before he caught her again and pulled her back.  
  
"Prime's orders were to get you back. This isn't the time to lead a charge, kiddo." She stared at him, blankly, and he shook his head, rather than explain. "The others are warriors, and you're not. We get you back." His optics went blank for an instant then, and he let out a short breath of relief. "Arcee's all right. She and Bee are in the underground streets circling back."   
  
The building shook under another pound of laser fire, and Hot Rod ducked reflexively, hunching over Tarla to protect her from the shower of metal fragments from the ceiling.  
  
"Unfortunately, that leaves the jets for us," she guessed.  
  
"Yeah, something like that." He leaned out the remains of a window and shot his own lasers, tracking a moving jet she couldn't see around his bulk. "C'mere. We can lose the jets if we can get underground. The closest entrance is over the side of this crater and down into the floor of the one next to it. There's an access drain there. Get in it and just keep following it north. The tracking system in your helmet will keep you going in the right direction. The other 'Bots will pick up your beacon."  
  
"And where're you going to be?" she demanded.  
  
"Hopefully, right behind you, but if we get separated, just keep going, and someone'll pick you up. We're all tuned into the beacon, because we didn't dare download something into your suit that would lead you back home." He cupped her chin in his hand. "Once you start going, don't you stop, whether I'm there or not. You got me?"  
  
"I'm never leaving Earth again," she moaned.  
  
A smile touched his face. "We'll get you home, Tarla." With a gentle flick of his fingertip, he flipped the visor of her helmet down over her face. "I'd keep on wheels, if I were you. Stay out of the jets' air space."  
  
The building shook again, the ceiling creaking and raining much larger fragments this time.  
  
"Go," he said, "now, while they're readying for another pass."  
  
She transformed, gunned the motor and peeled out. She could hear the pound of Hot Rod's feet behind her and the screeches of his lasers. She looked back once, saw two jets barreling in on him. The bike wobbled off-balance with her movement.  
  
Hot Rod saw her hesitate. "Go!" he shouted.  
  
She bent over the bike, popped the shield up over her, and went.  
  
She stopped at the rim of the crater, transforming the bike into battle armor on the run, staggering a few steps until she got control again. She was in an area about the length of a football field between the two craters. She didn't want to think about whatever caused the blast that had hollowed out both areas, and went on to create several more. She pushed the visor of her helmet up, winced as the flashes of lasers hurt her eyes, and shoved the visor down again, welcoming the shade the tinted material provided.  
  
Thundercracker barreled out of the sky, lights flaring off steel as he transformed in mid-air and tackled Hot Rod, throwing him to the ground. Without thinking, entirely on instinct, Tarla raised her arm, the laser guns hissing up and out of the compartments in her wrist armor. The cross-hairs dropped down in the heads-up display.  
  
And then she froze, because it sank in that it was Thundercracker she was aiming at.  
  
"Get out of here!" Hot Rod's voice roared through the comm-link's speakers in her helmet. On the tail end of that, was Jazz's voice, "Hang on, girl. We're almost there."  
  
"I can hold out 'til they get here," came Hot Rod's voice again.  
  
She spun then, to scramble down the crater, and Starscream landed between her and the edge.  
  
She was moving too fast to stop and would have gone off the edge in an uncontrolled plunge, had Starscream not caught her. She just barely had the presence of mind to rip off her helmet, so her voice wouldn't carry over the comm-link. "The Autobots are coming," she gasped out.  
  
"I know." He glanced down to where Hot Rod had thrown Thundercracker aside and was charging up towards them, afraid to shoot for fear of hitting Tarla. At the base of the other crater, Kup climbed out of an underground opening, followed by Jazz, Arcee, Bumblebee, and a couple more Autobots Tarla didn't recognize.  
  
"Now listen to me," Starscream hissed. "And for once, just once, don't argue with me. You got weapons in that thing?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Good. Shoot me."  
  
"What!" she shrieked.  
  
"Damn it, just do it!"  
  
"There's only Cracker here," she said. Hot Rod wasn't far away by this time. "You don't have to prove anything in front of him.  
  
"Not for me." He nodded at the Autobots. "They'll never accept you, otherwise." He grimaced. "Just don't hit anything too vital, nothing permanent, and hurry up before --"  
  
She shot him in the face, careful to miss his optics. In spite of expecting it, he stepped back in surprise, his hand to his face as it spurted fluid. Hot Rod barreled into him in car mode, hitting him squarely in the chest. Starscream stumbled and stepped backwards into nothingness. He made a clumsy leap into the air, transforming as soon as he had cleared the ground. Hot Rod couldn't stop himself and plunged over the edge. He transformed, skidding and rolling, and _bouncing_, and landed flat on his back at Arcee's feet. "Hi!" he said brightly.  
  
Arcee shook her head in amazement and gave him a hand up.  
  
"Tarla?" Jazz called. "You ok, girl?"  
  
She watched the two jets soar away. The red-tinted one did a quick barrel roll, lights and stars streaking off his skin. "Yeah, I'm fine." She transformed the suit and flew down, transforming again to land lightly on her feet.  
  
"Show-off," Hot Rod grumbled, brushing himself off. He shot her a quick grin, but his optics were more thoughtful than usual. "Can you make in it, or do you want a ride?"  
  
"I'm fine," she lied again, jamming her helmet on and sliding the visor down so no one could see her face.  
  
She made it back, held it in control, until she saw Prime. She let the bike fall to the floor and pulled her helmet off. He took one look at her eyes and ordered everyone else out of the room. She cried herself past exhaustion and finally to sleep, curled in the palm of his hand.  
  
  



	9. Default Chapter Title

THE DEEPEST CUTS ARE HEALED BY FAITH  
  
by Kamara Lufkin  
stealthbunny@msn.com  
  
  
Chapter Nine  
  
They gathered at the launch pad the next morning to leave. It was sooner than had been planned, but when they saw Tarla, silent in Prime's shadow, Bumblebee leaned to Jazz. "You think she'll be better back on Earth?"  
  
Jazz shrugged. "Dunno. But I'm bettin' Optimus thinks so." He looked sadly at the girl as she began strapping her exosuit in. "I guess this trip didn't 'xactly show Cybertron inna glowing light, did it?"  
  
"It wasn't supposed to be a vacation," Wheeljack said, "and she knew that." He stomped over to help her.  
  
"She may have known it," Bumblebee murmured, "but she sure wasn't expecting what happened, either."  
  
"Whoops! Prime comin' at three o'clock! Scatter!"  
  
They dove in opposite directions.  
  
Ultra Magnus hid a smirk. "They were talking about you."  
  
"How'd you guess?" Prime's amusement died as his gaze fell on Tarla as she adjusted the protective webbing over the exosuit. She pushed her hair away from her face, and her eyes met his optics for a brief second. He had see black holes with more emotion. She looked away again and tugged at the webbing, checking the fit.  
  
"It may not have been the way we had planned," Magnus' voice pulled him back, "but I can't say I'm not relieved that we no longer have a saboteur."  
  
"It went terribly," Prime said harshly. "We were lucky we didn't lose any of our warriors. And another human died because of the war we brought to their planet."  
  
Magnus watched Prime for a moment. He was still watching Tarla. The human was obviously aware of it, but was refusing to acknowledge it. "Forgive me, Optimus," he said gently, "but what else could we have done. We gave that human a choice, and she chose to be a Decepticon."  
  
After a long moment, Prime sighed. "I know. Just... how do I convince her of that?"  
  
Magnus shook his head. "I don't know enough about humans to give that type of advice."  
  
A small touch of humor glinted in Prime's optics. "Maybe someday you should come to earth and learn."  
  
Magnus laughed. "Maybe someday, you'll talk me into it. Of course, at the rate you're going, you'll have all my warriors there anyway. I'd have to come."  
  
"You'll always be welcome. You and any you bring with you."  
  
"We'd better leave some of us here on Cybertron."  
  
"There will always be Autobots who have no interest in Earth."  
  
"But you like Earth, don't you?"  
  
Prime glanced again in Tarla's direction, caught himself, and looked away. "It's not home, but yes, old friend. I do."  
  
"Then you may yet get me to visit." Magnus nodded at Tarla. "I wasn't sure if it was a good idea at first, bringing her. but she handled herself well, at that last. I have a lot to learn about these humans. But that one, she thinks fast, acts even faster. She'd be strong at whatever she'd do, if she'd just decide on a direction."  
  
Prime's optics crinkled slightly. "You know more about humans that you think you do."  
  
Wheeljack noticed Tarla ignoring Prime. "Are you really that angry at him?"  
  
"At Optimus?' She crouched on her heels, adding her pack and helmet in the webbing. "I'm not angry at Optimus." She jostled the bundle to check the fit, then looked up at him through her hair. "I could never be really angry at Optimus, Wheeljack. Starscream, yes. And maybe that's the whole difference."  
  
"Difference?"  
  
She shook her head and didn't answer. Instead, she patted the side of the bike. "Thanks for the use of this."  
  
He looked hurt. "What, you're just givin' it back?"  
  
She stood up, but her hand still rested on one handlebar, curled around it, not wanting to let go. "Wheeljack, I can't --"  
  
"Tarla, I built it to keep you safe," he said gently. "It can't do that sitting in a store room gathering dust. Even if you don't wanna stick around, the bike's yours. It was meant for you." He touched her shoulder in a gesture that felt like a warm smile, then moved away.  
  
Tarla smiled a little at the bike. She patted the seat, then checked the fitting of the webbing again, just for paranoia's sake.  
  
Arcee was pacing. Her body wasn't moving, and she was rather proud of herself for having that much control. Proud in a rather bitter and angry way. Mentally, though, she was racing laps. She was fairly certain no one had noticed, until Springer veered away from his conversation with Kup and sauntered over. "Got your stuff all stored?" he asked.  
  
She nodded, with what she hoped was a bright smile. She tried not to, but she glanced past Springer.  
  
The roads to the launch bay were all still empty.  
  
She bit her lip.  
  
Springer followed her gaze, then did a quick head-count. He shuffled his massive bulk for a moment, studying his feet. "Ya want me to go find him?"  
  
Her optics lit up for a second as she considered it, then darkened as she considered it further. "No," she said, so softly that he had to strain to hear her. "If that's the way he wants it, so be it."  
  
He couldn't bear to see her unhappy, not today, not after she had worked so hard for this. "You sure?" He ducked down to look up into her downcast optics. "I could haul him in by his spoiler, hold him down while you tie a few knots in his fuel line."  
  
She laughed a little, trying not to. "I don't need you to hold him down."  
  
"No," he agreed. "But it'd free your hands up. Let you concentrate on those knots."  
  
She shook her head, smiling, but still not looking at him. He let out a breath, scanning over the lights of Cybertron's skyline, the way the dark shadows of buildings melded seamlessly into the black of the sky, the stars taking over for the lights without any real distinction between artificial and natural.  
  
This was home.  
But home was also friends.  
  
"I was thinking," he said.  
"That would be a first," she said, her smile shining through again.  
  
"Hey, this is me, we're talking about here, not Hot Rod." Then he could have kicked himself, as the downcast hue came back to her optics. "No, that's -- anyway, I was thinking that maybe Earth could use a triple-changer like me, y'know? I've been wondering what it would be like, flying over those forests you've been telling me about. And if there were folks there I knew..." He shrugged. "Dunno, might be worth it, if I thought I'd have a welcoming committee." He touched her chin gently. She finally met his gaze then, and realized that Hot Rod had had a reason to be jealous all along. His hand cupped her chin, his fingers brushing her cheek. "I'll miss you, Arcee," he said softly. He let his hand drop, backed away two steps, then turned and walked away.  
  
Arcee touched her face, warm where his fingers had been and cooling fast in the air. "This was not how I wanted to leave," she whispered.  
  
"Whazzat?" Jazz had been walking by and caught her voice, but not the words.  
  
"Nothing," she said quickly.  
  
"Aw, ev'rything'll be fine, darlin'," he grinned. "Jus' a case of the jitters is all. In a few days, you'll wonder why you'd even been nervous."  
  
He was being kind, and she smiled, to show she appreciated it. He didn't know her well enough to realize the smile wasn't genuine. "Thank you, Jazz," she said. Her face was all one temperature now, as if Springer had never touched her. She sought him out with her optics and spotted him talking to Kup again. But he was watching her, his optics sad, despite his grin and the self-sure tone she could hear as the breeze would occasionally send pieces of his voice to her.  
  
"You'll be fine," Jazz said again, soothingly, then raised his voice. "Optimus, we're all ready here, whene'vr you are."  
  
"A minute more, Jazz," Prime called back. "He's late," he said to Magnus.  
  
"Get used to it," Magnus grunted.  
  
They heard the engines, before the red-and-orange car roared into sight. He wasn't traveling nearly as fast as usual, because his canopy was popped open enough to make room for the top of Arcee's maple tree. He transformed on the run, carefully holding the pot in one hand and balancing the tree against his shoulder. He gave Prime a sheepish grin and a shrug and jogged up to Arcee.  
  
She glowered at him, hands balled into fists on her hips. "What's the matter, Hot Rod? You decide the responsibility of taking care of a plant was too much for you?"  
  
He shuffled his feet, much like Springer had done. "Aw, c'mon, 'Cee. Giving it to me is like passing a death sentence on it. Besides, I think you need to take it. I think it needs to go home."  
  
Arcee faltered a little, glancing at the older warriors. "I didn't know if there'd be space."  
  
Hot Rod pointed at Omega Supreme. "He's immense. Come on. I'll help you find space." He juggled it for a moment, batting branches away from his face and spitting out a leaf. "I'll even help you plant it on Earth, since I'm going to be there and all."  
  
She stopped walking, and he went a few more steps before he realized it and turned back to her. He studied her face for a moment, as if committing her expression to memory, then smiled. It wasn't his usual cocky grin. She thought she liked it better. "I talked to Mags last night, and he arranged it with Prime," he said.  
  
"Kinda left it to the last minute, didn't you?" But her voice was gentle.  
  
"When have I not?" Then the impish grin was back and he waved to Springer. "Bye, Frog-legs!"  
  
Springer's face creased in puzzlement, then his optics narrowed as it clicked. "Oh, is that the way it is, huh?" He rocked a little on his feet. "Enjoy it, kid. I'll be along soon."  
  
Hot Rod's grin vanished. "What'd he mean by that?"  
  
Arcee pushed him aboard Omega Supreme ahead of her.  
  
"That's everyone." Prime gazed at the skyline one more time.  
  
Home.  
  
"Let's roll out," he said.  
  
HOT ROD'S ACCOUNT  
  
The sky on Earth is beautiful  
  
I'm not talking about the night sky, although I imagine it's similar enough to Cybertron that it nurses Transformers through bouts of homesickness. I'm talking about the deep blue sky the first day we arrived. It had been night when we landed, and the next several hours were a blur of downloading orientation files and getting settled.  
  
I hadn't realized Arcee would be the only femme here. She was already getting far more attention than I liked. She took it with the casual jabs that she gave everyone, but when one warrior got a little too friendly, I was halfway across the room before his hand actually touched her.  
  
I was only three-quarters across the room, when he passed me, going airborne in the opposite direction. He hit the wall hard enough to dent it.  
  
Arcee set her fists on her hips. "Anyone else?" she asked sweetly.  
  
"You should see her shoot, too," I couldn't help adding, just for good measure.  
  
Everyone was suddenly intensely busy doing something else.  
  
"They'll get used to it," I said.  
  
"Damn straight, they will." Then she glared at me. "And just what do you think you were doing, charging over here like that?"  
  
Ah, but I was used to her glares. "I liked his gun. Kinda figured he wouldn't need it after you were done with him, so I wanted first chance at it."  
  
"You're impossible," she told me.  
  
One of the others joined me and we watched her walk away. "That's some femme," he said.  
  
I shook my head, filled with pride. "No. That's some warrior."  
  
It was supposed to be a light day, as an introduction, but it was after noon before I got outside again, and when I saw the sky in its vivid shade of blue, it was several minutes before I could move again.  
  
"It's something, isn't it?" The warrior who had spoken to me earlier was also on his way out, and he stopped near me. "It bothers some 'Bots, least those who've never been on a world with a sun. But me, I've been on several, and none of them could rival this. I'm Cliffjumper, by the way."  
  
"Hot Rod," I said, and he shook my hand in the Terran way of greeting. "I've seen pictures of Earth, but the real thing...!"  
  
He studied my expression, then smiled. "You'll do just fine here." He clapped my shoulder. "Gotta roll. I'm on patrol. We'll talk later." He transformed and beeped at me, then zipped away.  
  
I walked a ways from the Ark, then climbed up the side of the mountain until I found a rock that made a good seat and watched the clouds float by. It was not a way that I had ever expected to spend and afternoon on a new world, with roads to explore... but I was surprisingly content.  
  
'Bots came and went on their duties, and several called and waved to me. Felt good, getting the attention, being the new kid and all. After a while, I heard a more familiar, lighter toned engine, and Tarla came around the bend in the road on her bike.  
  
I sighed. Her pack was strapped on behind her. She was leaving again.  
  
I guess I had thought that just the action of bringing her home safe would somehow heal all the wounds, between her and the Autobots, between her and Prime, between her and herself. Maybe it was because it looked like Arcee and I were driving in the same direction together, and I was happy enough that I didn't want Tarla to be unhappy.  
  
I slid down the mountainside and landed in the road, far enough ahead of her that she had time to coast to a stop. She pulled off her helmet. "A bit more graceful about it this time, weren't you?" she said, waving at the mountain.  
  
"Huh? Oh, yeah." I shrugged. "Amazing what you can do when you aren't being shot at." I pointed at her pack. "You leaving?"  
  
She balanced the helmet in front of her and crossed her arms on top of it. "Optimus pulled something with my school. I'm not sure what, but I imagine it had something to do with new landscaping and a new computer lab. They don't really want me back, and I can't really blame them. If Decepticons showed up once looking for me, they might again, and they might not be so peaceful about it." Her eyes were dark from the shadows of her hair. "Frenzy's still out there." Then she pulled herself out of that fear. "Anyway, the deans worked it out that I can finish up over a computer link-up. I just needed a few more classes. I already have enough credits in language, so it's just a matter of finishing up a few more basic requirements. I'm just going back to tie up a few ends."  
  
"And then what?"  
  
She hesitated a long moment.  
  
"It seems a shame to waste the chance Starscream gave you."  
  
She looked up at me sharply, squinting against the sun. Then she glanced away again, running her fingers over the visor on her helmet. "I wondered if you were close enough to overhear that."  
  
"As much as I hate to think anything nice about that guy..." My voice trailed off. It had been a rotten attempt at a joke. "Yeah. I heard. And, no," I said as she glanced at me again. "I wasn't planning on telling anyone."  
  
"Optimus knows."  
  
Of course, she'd tell him. Or maybe, she hadn't had to. "Prime knows everything," I said, a bit wistfully. It going to be as easy to get away with pranks around here.  
  
"It's stupid, really," she said viciously. "One little thing, and it's supposed to go a long ways towards fixing all the mistakes I made."  
  
"Shooting a Decepticon isn't exactly a little thing," I pointed out.  
  
She waved it all in dismissal.  
  
"And it didn't look like Starscream thought so either."  
  
Her eyes flicked back to my face again.  
  
I was struggling for words, because this conversation was really forcing me to be serious, and my reputation was taking a beating. "There are a lot of people who have faith in you. And some of those people are... Primus, one of them is Optimus Prime, and if his opinion matters as highly as it does to everyone else, why does it seem to mean so little to you?"  
  
She flinched, but she didn't look away.  
  
"And if you can't believe his opinion, and that of all the 'Bots, and 'Cons too, for that matter, that come to your help. And if that isn't enough, add what Starscream did for you. How can you look at all that, and still think so little of yourself?" I touched her chin gently. Her face was streaked with tears, but she wasn't making a sound. The sun glistened off her face.  
  
"I went through those corridors today," she said softly, "and Autobots who refused to speak to me two weeks ago greeted me by name. All because I shot a Decepticon.  
  
I didn't think it would help to point out it was not so much because she shot _a_ Decepticon, as it was _which_ Decepticon she shot. "I dunno. I shoot at 'Cons all the time, and I still don't get a lot of respect."  
  
"I can't imagine why," she said, deadpan. It reminded me of Prime's sense of humor. Then her eyes went dark. "You will, though, Hot Rod."  
  
"Will what?"  
  
"Get that respect someday."  
  
The conversation was getting way too serious, if it was focusing on me. "So, you're going back to school. Then what?"  
  
Her gaze rested on my Autobot symbol. "I'm coming back," she said in a whisper, as if to say it aloud would be to jinx it.  
  
I didn't dare push it. "We'll be here."  
  
She straightened then, in a sudden burst of energy. "'Sides, I got an invite to Spike and Carli's wedding. I have to be here for that."  
  
The wedding wasn't the solution to that battle that was going on inside her, but maybe it was a step in the right direction. Short of picking her up, bike and all, and dragging her back into the Ark, there wasn't much else I could do. And she was one hell of an accurate shot.  
  
If she didn't show up for the wedding, maybe I'd risk it then.  
  
There wasn't really much to say after that. We kind of shuffled around a few topics, like the weather, until she gave one of her strange shrugs, that always looked like she stopped in the middle of it. I had commented on it once to Bumblebee, and he had looked thoughtful for a moment. "I guess, if my arm had been broken that badly, and I wasn't so easy to repair, maybe I'd move a little differently because of it, too," he finally said, and I guess that was when it really sank in just how fragile humans were. I had a sudden surge of protectiveness, and wondered if that was how Arcee felt.  
  
It was not a bad feeling.  
  
Not long after she left, I saw a flash of Arcee's pink armor at the Ark's entrance. I sent her a beep on out private inter-comm link, telling her where I was, and soon, she walked around the curve, carrying her tree and a shovel. She waited as I slid down the mountain, bracing the pot on her hip. "You're getting better at that," she observed.  
  
"Must be a female thing," I muttered, and when she cocked her head, I explained, "Tarla said the same thing."  
  
"She left."  
  
"I know. It sounded temporary this time."  
  
"I hope so." Her optics followed the road for a moment, tracing it as it curved around the mountain, as if hoping she'd see the human coming back already. I realized why I was so fascinated by the daytime sky -- it was exactly the same shade of blue as Arcee's optics.  
  
She looked at me again and patted the pot. "They said if I was going to plant it, I should do it soon, before it gets any colder. Do you still want to help?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
She tossed the shovel at me. "Bumblebee said there's a grove a little hike from here that would be perfect. It'll get some of the heat from the Ark's ventilation system, which will help nurse it through its first winter." She cradled the pot protectively as we walked, and I wondered if she was going to decide against it. She had had the tree for a long time now, and in some ways, it held more memories of our home on Cybertron than it did hopes for a home on Earth.  
  
She didn't change her mind though, and carefully worked it out of its pot, gently working its root system loose as I dug a hold for it. It was a good thing she had changed its pot a few times in the past, because I had no idea what I was doing. I held it straight while she packed dirt around it in the hole, then watered it, and wrapped strips of cloth around the base of the trunk to help keep it warm until it adjusted to the weather.  
  
"I think you're right, Roddi," she said, sitting back on her heels when we were done. "I think it needed to be home."  
  
I sat next to her, then leaned back to lay on the ground, noticing the alien feel of grass and dirt against my back instead of metal, and the different sound of the wind rustling the leafs as they fell in burning colors. Autumn, Tarla had called it. I'd blend right in a forest of them. I smiled at the image. That held possibilities.  
  
Arcee settled against me, sitting in the curve of my arm, her hand on my chest. I watched her watching her tree. The fiery colors of the grove made a perfect background for her. She tilted her head back against the breeze, Primus, but she was beautiful.  
  
She smiled then, still not looking at me. "I'm glad you came, Roddi."  
  
I covered her hand in mine, lacing our fingers together, and looking at the sky, the same color as her optics.  
  
"Me, too," I said.  
  
-end-  
  
  



End file.
